I Need You
by Speaker63
Summary: Set when Tritter is introduced into the series. House gets himself in trouble, but he can't seem to speak up for help. Mature content; inspired by a playlist I put togther. Enjoy! Rated M just to be safe.
1. Teardrop

**Chapter 1: Teardrop**

House's leg was always sore. That wasn't something abnormal. That day, however, it was just bugging him; even taking Vicodin only eased it slightly. So as he sat in his office with his team, he rubbed at his leg under the table while he did his best to concentrate. The only times it hurt that bad was- of course- if he didn't take Vicodin (which he would know if he did or not; he even confessed he was an addict). The other times would be when his mind would slip into a darker state; thinking back to when he was a little boy. Back when his father had abused him- in more ways than physical.

_You've been a bad boy, Greg,_ he would say. And House really believed it- at the time, anyway.

_I didn't do anything wrong._

"House?" Cameron's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Blue optics shifted their gaze from outside of the office toward the woman that spoke, then to Foreman and Chase, who were also looking at him. Quickly, House thought to himself, _What were we… oh right, the woman._ "Right, give her the treatment," he just said, remaining in his seat. But none of them moved. His gaze moved around the table again and his brow rose. "When I said 'give her the treatment'..."

He didn't need to finish. Foreman just shook his head and stood up, walking out with Chase following him. But Cameron just stood from her seat and looked at House. "Is everything…" she started. House looked at her, leaning back in his seat, "Peachy." The tone of sarcasm told Cameron to forget the question- or to even try prying anything out of House.

When she had left the office, House finally got up from his seat. While he was in thought, he had seen Wilson talking to one of the nurses. Being the man he was, House immediately caught interest and went to seek out his friend and taunt him about the encounter. Maybe it would help to get his mind off of the pain- and other thoughts.

------

Clinic duty- one of the many things that House hated. At least it meant he would be able to go home soon. He limped down to the clinic, grabbing the file given to him and then went into the exam room. He never took the time to look them over; there really was no point. House didn't want to get to know his patients but they seemed to want to believe they knew him. That bothered him sometimes, but he simply shrugged it off. Right when he stepped inside, something didn't seem right; it was all off. But he pushed that feeling away and looked toward the man standing in the room. He was probably a little older than House himself, looked in pretty good shape- it wouldn't take too long.

"I was waiting two hours out there," the patient said after he spat out the gum he was chewing and replacing it with a new piece.

House just furrowed his brow and replied in a listless tone, "Fascinating. Ever considered a career as a memoirist?" The doctor pulled up a chair and nodded toward the man. "Let's see it."

The patient started to undo his pants and House purposely kept his gaze on the file- even though he didn't bother reading it. Why was he getting so damn tense? It was just a normal check-up. But there was something about the guy that set something off in House's mind. However, he kept that to himself as the patient spoke up again. "How come you don't introduce yourself?"

Finally, House turned back, keeping his gaze somewhere near the man's face. He couldn't look at those cold icy blue eyes. "Oh sorry," he said, keeping calm and pointing a thumb toward the door, "I thought you said you were waiting two hours. I didn't know you wanted to chat." His tone then turned sarcastic again. "Hi, I'm Greg. How about that local sports team?"

Of course the patient wasn't amused- that didn't surprise the doctor in the slightest. Almost reluctantly, House lowered his gaze to the purpose that the patient was here in the first place. He could feel the man's eyes on him and that got him tense all over again. But House kept telling himself to stay calm and everything would be all right. "It's not an infection," he said, turning back toward the file to write something down.

Again, the patient didn't like his reply. "How can you tell it-"

Immediately House whipped back to face him. "Want me to touch you? It's your private place." House mentally cringed at the snappiness of his tone. But what could that guy do? It wasn't like he was going to hurt him… so House hoped. In a calmer tone- as if to make up for his reply, House added, "You're chewing nicotine gum which causes dehydration, which causes ware and tare. Try lubricant- or foreplay if you're cheap."

Another bad move. _Damn it, knock it off!_ his mind warned himself again.

"Take a swab and get it tested," was the patient's simple reply as he pulled his pants up slightly. Well, it would have been simple if it didn't sound so much like a command. And no way was House going to touch him- not with the alarms that were sounding off in his head when he first walked in.

"Sorry- already met this month's useless quota of useless tests for stubborn idiots." _SHUT UP_! His mind cried again. And to help shut himself up- and his aching leg as well- House pulled out his bottle of Vicodin and popped a few pills in his mouth.

There was another pause. "You're rude," the stranger decided to point out.

House's brow rose again, sitting back up in his seat. As if surprised to hear the 'news'. "Wow, you're like, a detective or something!" And yet again, his tone was sarcastic.

After a couple of chomps on his gum, the man added, "and you're smart. And you're funny. But you are bitter." Brow narrowed, House looked back up at the man. _Who does this guy think he is?_ "And you're lonely. So you treat everyone around like they're idiots and get away with it. Cause of your cane."

Blue hues shifted toward his cane, which was leaning against one of the cupboards and with a very soft scoff, House said in that resuming tone, "Please stop, it's hard to write through the bitter haze of tears." Eventually, his mind had quieted down; the guy wasn't doing anything other than lecturing- just like everyone else House knew. And talking back helped him relax more; his leg stopped aching so much, but there was that dull reminder every once in a while. He tried to resume writing, but the son of a bitch just kept talking.

"But you're not getting away with it. The last person you made fun of probably slipped something in your coffee."

"Mmm nah, I asked for a de-crapinated coffee." House got up, picking up his cane and walking toward the door. But as he moved, the patient kicked his cane out from under him, making House trip and fall into the door. His eyes became wide not only in surprise, but also a bit of fear. Honestly, he didn't expect that at all- and to have it be just the two of them in that room with the same fears that House was having when he walked in, it wasn't a good situation. Immediately he turned his head toward the patient, who seemed to be pretty satisfied with what he had just done. The gum-chewing stranger kept his gaze averted from House.

"Treat people like jerks," he said, "and you'll be treated like a jerk." Slowly, the man turned his gaze toward House, who got tense all over again. There was a certain look in the patient's eyes that brought him back to when he was a boy. _You've been a bad boy, Greg, _the voice of his father echoed again, _and you deserve to be punished._

_No- this isn't the same_, House thought as he regained his footing instead of leaning against the door. _This guy wouldn't do that- this is a hospital full of people; someone would find out._ The crippled doctor had a sort of amused look on his face as he thought this. But he turned to face the other man and he slowly walked back toward his seat. Seeming to feel victorious, the man started to pull his pants back down again. But House was having other plans; he took out a thermometer, which apparently the idiot didn't notice.

"Thank you," the idiot spoke with a smirk on his face. House wanted to smack him with his cane. "Bend over," was his own simple reply.

Finally, the patient looked confused. "You're kidding-"

"If you didn't have an infection, you wouldn't have a fever. You're chewing nicotine gum which messes with the temperature in your mouth, so I have to vacation elsewhere." _Even though I'm going to hate every second of it. _Of course he didn't add that out loud as he looked at the gum-chewing idiot.

Seeming to be more uncomfortable now, the patient turned around and House did what he planned. But that was only the beginning of his plan. After the thermometer was in place, House picked up his cane again. The gum-chewing idiot noticed and started to move. "Ah ah ah, you break it, you bought it," House said and then moved toward the door to leave the man inside. Revenge is oh so sweet. He decided to be a _little_ nice, however, and vaguely spoke to the nurse outside of the office about 'having the feeling he forgot something'.

------

"I'll let Wilson talk to him if you apologize to the clinic guy," Lisa Cuddy said to House. They had been arguing for a couple of minutes over the case that House and his team had been working on for most of the day. House needed to have a biopsy on the sick wife approved before he could get Wilson to talk to the husband, whom was also getting sick with his wife. But the husband wasn't as far along in his illness as his wife was.

And it ended in Cuddy's second attempt at making House apologize to the now angry patient. _No way in hell am I apologizing to that idiot_, House thought before voicing his thought in a more polite manner, "Nah, probably better to just let that couple die."

"I don't care if you mean it, just do it." and with that, Cuddy walked up the stairs.

House frowned and turned his gaze away from the stairs. He had already gotten rid of that guy, why did he have to apologize? The idiot tripped him! Sticking a thermometer up his ass and leaving him there wasn't bad- it was hilarious! But there he was, having to apologize to the idiot patient. House figured it could wait; he had two dying patients he had to help take care of.

However when he heard the news on Wilson's conversation with the husband, House was furious. "Great job," he said sarcastically, "why didn't you just shoot him in the head?" _Now I have to apologize to that damned idiot for nothing. Thanks, Wilson._

"I gave him two options," Wilson defended himself after lecturing to his friend. House scoffed, "And you gave him a third- no treatment. And now I-"

"Remember when you used to bother me about my love life? Those were _such_ good times." It sounded sarcastic, but House knew what it meant. Wilson waited for a response as he stood by his office door, but then finally sighed. "What's been with you today?"

The crippled doctor just shook his head. "Nothing; just decided to bug you about something else. After so many failed attempts, your love life gets a little boring." The younger man rolled his eyes and shook his head. Again, House's leg throbbed in pain and he tensed. Ever since the visit to the clinic, it had gotten worse. It wasn't a guilty conscience like some people would have suspected; it was a certain pain that House got with certain thoughts. But he didn't care if Wilson noticed the tension- he knew about House's past already. So no concerns were voiced out- at least until House took a handful of Vicodin.

"What happened?" Wilson asked in a lower voice. Confused, House narrowed his brow and looked at his friend. "My leg hurt, so I take these pills called 'Vicodin'. See, back when-"

"I mean earlier. Ever since you left the clinic you've been tense and… maybe paranoid?" The look of concern in his eyes made House roll his eyes. But on the inside, he wanted to tell him what he was thinking. _Nothing happened in that room; nothing that would- or even should be- bothering me_, his mind reassured himself. And the offer to spill everything was cast aside. Sometimes, House hated how his mind worked. "When did you become my shrink?" House fired back in his usual way.

"House." His voice was very serious. The other man sighed and looked off to the side a moment. It was just the two of them by that door; the only other hallway was the one behind them, where nurses and other doctors were heading toward the elevator or going to their own offices. They didn't even bother to look toward the two men that were standing there, one with a very serious expression while the other seemed… nervous. A look that was very out of character for House.

Before anything could be said, Wilson's pager went off. The doctor looked at it and then returned his gaze to his friend. "I have to go. We're not done, all right?" House didn't even have time to respond; he was left to stand in the hall alone with all of those thoughts on his mind. But after years of experience, House knew how to shut them off- at least for a little while.

------

Cuddy lead House back toward her office once he returned to the clinic. There was a sort of amused smile on her face that House didn't like; he hated when she got like that. And he would hate it even more when he would go in her office. Because it meant she was going to lecture him about how big of an idiot he was and how he was wrong about doing all these things. House knew how to shut her out, though, and at times it got to be amusing. However once he got to the office, House froze and rolled his eyes. Standing by her desk was the gum-chewing patient apparently named Michael Tritter. House remained by the door, which was glass so he felt a little safer. But to be in that room alone with Tritter again- with that same damn look from House's childhood on that idiot's face- he just wanted out of that room.

"I don't want to sue you," Tritter started, facing House now.

"Good," he replied simply, but then started getting tense when the other man started walking toward him.

"But I want to kick your ass."

House's gaze shifted to the side, hiding the nervous look that threatened to show in his eyes. "Less good."

While Tritter went on to lecture him about how House was 'a bully' and all that, the man kept walking toward House, his eyes scanning over him. The doctor did his best to try and stay calm and collected- stay himself. Even when Tritter got very close to him. For once, House was glad he had a bad leg; his cane stayed in his hand and he even adjusted his grip incase if the guy was planning on doing anything. But he wouldn't; there were people outside of Cuddy's office that could see if anything were to go on.

"I'm looking for humiliation," Tritter continued, standing awfully close to House now. The man lifted his hand up toward House's face, who immediately swatted it away. Tritter only looked more amused at the motion as he added, "something that will make you think twice before you treat the next patient like crap."

The touch to his face shook him up. But House kept reciting over and over in his mind that Tritter couldn't do anything- not while they were in the hospital._ I'm done with this crap, _he thought before speaking. "Here's what's going to happen," House started, feeling a little more confident, "you go off to your friends and tell them how you made the big mean doctor poop his pants. I get Cuddy off my back by telling her I humiliated myself. Here's the catch: we're both going to be lying."

That same amused smirk crossed Tritter's face as he watched House and the doctor knew exactly why: House had been looking right at the guy and could see the expression on his face. Even though he was acting himself, House still was nervous. And Tritter saw that. But the guy didn't say anything; his eyes just scanned over House again and it made House so close to whipping his cane at the guy's face.

"I'm **not** apologizing," House said instead, finally turning and limping out of Cuddy's office. The whole walk out of the clinic, House could feel the bastard's eyes still on his back.

------

How could he lose that bet? How did he so easily fall for that trick? Foreman had been dating the nurse that Wilson was talking to, while at the same time making a bet with House that Wilson wasn't. House should have known that was coming. Well, there went the two hundred dollars he almost won. House put his motorcycle helmet on and revved the engine before taking off from his parking spot. The streets were pretty empty that night, so he decided to drive a little faster, speeding down the road. While he rode down the street of a small neighborhood, House caught the faint sound of sirens behind him.

_Damn_, he thought as he glanced back to catch the red and blue lights out of the corner of his eye.

Pulling to the side of the road, House stopped the motorcycle and kicked the kickstand down. _All right, time to play the sympathy act_, he thought, gathering his thoughts about how to gain the cop's sympathy by acting like a poor cripple. But once his helmet was off and he turned around, House froze. The gum-chewing patient was walking toward him from his police car, his ice blue hues focused on the crippled doctor. _Fuck._

The doctor scoffed softly. "If you've come to return the thermometer don't bother, I've moved on."

"If you actually took the time to look at my record," Tritter started, flashing his badge to House, "you would know I'm a cop."

_Damn_, House cursed in his mind, lowering his gaze from Tritter since once again he was giving him that same look. "You were going forty in a twenty-five zone," the cop added, looking at House like a father disciplining his son.

"Oh come on," House said, then added sarcastically, "you're only doing this because I'm Latino." He flinched mentally after the comment. Then again, they were in a neighborhood. House seemed to relax more after that reminder came to him.

"License, registration, proof of insurance."

Again, House scoffed and then shrugged, extending his arms for a moment before letting them flop back at his sides. "Sorry, cool jacket. Only pockets for important stuff."

Tritter was not amused. At that point, though, the doctor didn't care; he just wanted to get away from Tritter and go home. Instead, Tritter started to pull out his pad and pen. "Well, that's a shame."

"A fifty dollar ticket?" House asked. "Is that your way of beating me up?" He almost hesitated when he added the last part. "Or is that the price for sticking something in you?"

That was the comment that House was going to regret making. The cop just looked up at him from where he stood, staying very still but keeping his eyes over House. Instead of making his move right away, Tritter walked over toward him. "You took a pill while treating a patient. That's serious… addictive behavior."

_Is this seriously happening?_ "I bet," Tritter continued, "that you're holding right now." House knew exactly what that meant for him. His body went rigid, yet he still tried to keep calm. When he spoke, however, his voice sounded weak. "I wasn't weaving, I'm not drunk, you have no reason-"

"Pupils dilated- appear to be under the influence of a narcotic." Tritter paused, seeming to be basking in the moment that was taking place. Oh how House wished he had his cane right now. "Would you mind… turning around and putting your hands behind your head?"

His heart was pounding heavily against his chest. _No- no chance in hell._ His mind was going a mile a minute, thinking that reply over and over. However he scoffed, "Is that polite crap that'll work on people-"

He was cut off when he felt Tritter's strong grip on his arms, spinning him around and whipping his hands up behind his head. House trembled then, his breathing quiet but also rushed. One hand stayed gripped around both of his wrists while the other started to search, Tritter taking his sweet time sliding his hand down the side of House's torso. He didn't move; his body stayed tense and his gaze averted uncomfortably to the side. Tritter's hands switched when he found nothing other than House's skin under his hand.

_Someone has to drive by_, House thought and hoped in vain, _or someone's got to be awake in one of these- damn it stop touching me!_ Tritter's hand slid over House's stomach, making him flinch. The hand stayed there for a while before he moved to grab at House's pocket, where he pulled out a handful of Vicodin.

"Got a prescription?" Tritter asked in a low voice in House's ear. _Someone… __**please**__…_ his mind begged, but to no avail. House swallowed hard, even then his voice trembled. "I'm a cripple who works in a hospital. You don't think I could get a valid prescript-"

Again, House jumped when he felt the hand on his body. The sound of Tritter's smirk made his stomach clench. At that point, _everything _about the guy made him sick. "Arrogant son of a bitch like you? I bet you didn't even bother." The had slid very slowly from House's skin and to the handcuffs on his belt. Once again, House swallowed hard. Tritter said nothing as he handcuffed House's wrists. Not even trying to look back at Tritter, House spoke up. He didn't bother with the sarcastic remarks; either way he was in trouble. "What're you going to do to me?"

The cop paused only a moment, holding House's arms. "Like I said before- you're a bully. And bullies… deserve to be _punished_."

The crippled doctor's brow narrowed with a look of fear in his eyes. It didn't take him a second to realize what was going to happen. _I didn't do anything wrong,_ House repeated in his mind, Tritter gripping his arms tightly as he pushed him toward the back of the cop car. _I didn't… it's not my fault. _He gave up hope on someone driving by then; because it would just look like some guy getting arrested. House was pushed into the back of the cop car. Tritter couldn't do anything there; one, they were in a neighborhood- someone would hear if House called for help. And two, they were in a cop car- Tritter's DNA would be there. The cop moved toward the driver's seat, chewing on his nicotine gum as he got in. House wasn't looking at him; how could he? Instead he looked out the window, hoping that by some chance that they would go to the station. Because there, Tritter couldn't do anything.

House had been to the station before but never was he that scared. The last time he was that scared was… well, he couldn't remember himself. However as they were driving, House realized that they weren't going to the station. He had a good idea where they were going and on the whole way there, House slowly started to shut off his mind.


	2. Gravity

**Chapter 2: Gravity**

"What took you so long?" House asked as he limped out of the police station. Wilson turned to see his friend and immediately frowned. Even though House sounded like he was normal, something seemed very off. He looked very different. "Sorry, I didn't have fifteen grand in my loose change jar. What the hell did you do?"

The cripple rolled his eyes as he gestured for his Vicodin. _Always my fault… _"Nothing." He wasn't going to answer; he knew he didn't do anything wrong. It was all the sick cop's fault. After being taken to a motel, he was actually brought to the station and put in a cage for the night. Without a shower and without his Vicodin. Wilson handed the bottle over to House as he went on about his assumptions as to what happened. Wilson was right about the 'charges', but still he was far from the truth. _So far from the truth,_ House thought as he limped toward the end of the sidewalk. His body still ached and unfortunately it was showing in his gait. He knew he should tell Wilson what happened; Tritter didn't make him shower, but even then was Wilson going to believe him? _Probably not…_ He didn't want to go through that. So House kept his mouth shut.

"Where's your car?" he asked simply, glad that he was just standing there now with Wilson. But the other doctor wasn't amused with the skating around his question. "What happened?!" Wilson asked again.

House kept his gaze averted the whole time, pretending to look around for Wilson's car. "Some idiot cop with crotch-rot obviously thought I didn't treat him with the deference due to a man of his stature. He trumped up a traffic stop. Next thing I know I'm in a cage with a guy who thinks showers are a way the devil gets inside you."

Finally they started walking again. The whole time, Wilson was watching his friend. House limped all the time, but it seemed he was putting a lot more support on his cane than he normally did. Well, he _had_ been in jail for a night without Vicodin. The younger man dismissed his worry and asked, "Does Cuddy know?"

"All that she needs to," House replied before looking back toward Wilson. "I'm innocent."

"Until proven guilty."

House shrugged only slightly. "The guy wanted to punish me, he did it. It's over." _I really hope._ But the last time he had been hoping, it was all in vain. That was why he didn't believe in God; praying to the guy did nothing for him. He was 'arrested' and taken off to that damned motel and… he couldn't even think about it. All it was now was flashes in his mind; House had shut down his mind, yet what happened still effected him. He knew it always would, too.

When they got inside of the car, House sighed and leaned back in his seat a bit. A pain shot through his shoulder and he winced. Tritter had slammed House's shoulder pretty hard when the doctor had actually tried to struggle. But that resulted in a possibly broken clavicle. House was hoping he could have his that fact from Wilson, but the wince gave him away. Wilson noticed and sat there for a moment, as if contemplating something. He knew what was going to be asked, but before the question was repeated House cut him off. "I need a change of clothes."

Obviously whatever happened that night, House didn't want to talk about it in detail. With a small sigh, Wilson shook his head and started up the car. "I'm going to find out about it either way," Wilson said, giving one more shot at figuring out at least a clue about what happened. His reply was once again silence. _You're not going to believe me_, House thought, frowning and shifting in his seat to get in a more comfortable- and less painful- position. He just hoped his day at the hospital would take his mind off of everything.

Of course, that was a far shot at hope.

"What happened to _you_?" Chase asked, looking at House curiously.

_If one more person asks me that question…_ House didn't finish the thought as he walked in and set his new change of clothes on the table. He made up a sarcastic story, which got the hint to all of them that it was none of their business. They went on to talk about the case of a six hundred pound patient, House coming up with a bunch of names to call the guy. It all helped ease his mind, which of course was good for him. But he still limped painfully as he walked around the room. The only one that seemed to notice was Cameron.

"This conversation is officially over since I have run out of clever things to call the guy," House snickered lightly. Chase and Foreman got up and walked out of the room, but Cameron started to follow after House. "I'm just going to the little boys room- no girls allowed," House said to her. _Just leave me alone, Cameron, _House thought, _You're wasting your time._

"What's going on?" she asked, walking with House, "why were you late?"

The doctor stopped, letting out a small hiss of pain that he quickly made into a sigh. _Stop trying to push me, damn it._ "Being late happens once in a while; doesn't mean-"

Cameron walked faster and turned in front of House to stop him. "You're limping a lot worse than normal and your right shoulder is tense." The crippled man averted his gaze, looking to be irritated. "House, what happened?" Cameron pushed again.

"Don't you have a patient to treat?" After tilting his head to the side, House paused for a reply. Hearing none, the doctor simply walked around Cameron and into the bathroom to change his clothes.

------

House was whistling a cheerful tune after he saw a patient storm out of the exam room. Just like everyone else, the guy was an idiot- shoulder pains because he kept sleeping on his shoulder. Simple solution: don't sleep on that arm! So after being called insane for suggesting to amputate the man's arm, House limped out to get the next file. The whistling stopped though when he caught sight of a familiar face- one that he was trying to forget that day.

"I see spending a night with me and in jail hasn't humbled you a bit," Tritter said with his hands in his pockets.

_He can't do anything now,_ House reassured himself, _not now… he got what he wanted, what the hell else does he want?_ Standing behind a desk so the furniture and a nurse was between them, House replied, "What do you want?"

"Just bringing your boss up to speed." House paused, his brow narrowing slightly while Tritter added, "which I guess you didn't feel was necessary."

"Are you going to add that to my list of charges?" The last word came out fully in sarcasm. Taking out his bottle of Vicodin, House popped the pills in his mouth.

"People who are innocent tend to not hide their arrest."

The confident look on House's face was turning into a death glare. _That wasn't a damned arrest- you took me to a damn motel and raped me you asshole! If anyone's guilty of anything, it's you! _Instead, he replied in a surprisingly calm voice, "Is that based on your years of experience 'arresting' innocent people?"

Tritter just smirked, chewing on his gum as he looked at the doctor. House knew he could sense his nervousness. _Just leave me alone; you got what you wanted, what else do you want from me?_ None of those questions were voice out loud, however. The two just stared at each other before House sighed and started limping toward Tritter. The cop showed no sign of amusement in his eyes.

"Why don't you give up while your ahead," House said, trying his best to stay strong. But Tritter wasn't showing any signs of backing down. Instead, his gaze shifted toward the nurse House was now standing by and then his icy optics returned toward the doctor. "I think working around a bunch of nurses is giving you a false sense of your ability to intimidate."

_If only he wasn't a cop- my cane would have broken his damn nose a long time ago_. House was glaring at the cop again, knowing exactly what he meant by what he said. Even the nurse turned her head from her desk and looked toward the cop. He knew House got confident in the hospital; because Tritter couldn't do anything to him there. At the hospital, House was safe. But he couldn't be there forever…

------

Wilson was sitting at the front desk at the hospital while he was having lunch. Cameron had talked to him earlier about how House had been acting and voicing her concerns for him. Which wasn't anything new- not that Wilson was going to ignore her. Something was definitely up and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. When he saw House walk over to the chair next to his, Wilson slid to the side a bit to make room for his friend.

"I think it's her mom," House said suddenly, leaning back and resting his feet on the desk. Blinking, Wilson looked up at House curiously. He returned the gaze and shrugged his shoulder- only to flinch again. But he recovered by replying, "Cameron- she's lying, destroying hospital equipment…" he looked at Wilson before leaning in to steal a tomato from his salad. "… snitching about me to you."

The doctor looked up from his food, rolling his eyes. He had heard about what happened with the obese patient and the MRI machine; he knew right from the start it was House's idea. Why Cameron took the blame was simple- she didn't want there to be a lot of pressure on House- like there already seemed to be. "She's just concerned about you. She saw you talking to Tritter and-"

"That doesn't mean anything." The younger man's brow rose when House suddenly got defensive. It was only confirming his and Cameron's assumption when she told him that Tritter came back and talked to House. "I didn't say it did. But by the way you're getting defensive and tense, I'm starting to think differently."

_Damn it, just say it_, his mind said. House held the tomato in his hand, looking at Wilson as he was deciding what to say. _Just tell him what happened and Tritter won't bug you anymore. If no one else will believe you, Wilson will. _"Why are you insisting on your assumption that you're my shrink?" _… Or you can be an idiot and blow him off._

"Because maybe I'm concerned too," Wilson replied, glancing toward House's shoulder. The crippled doctor shifted his gaze toward it and then sighed. "It's just tense, relax. Ever consider I'm usually a cranky cripple?" he asked, putting the tomato in his mouth. _Stop pushing him away and get to the damned point!_

"That gets defensive whenever anyone asks what happened with the cop last night? Right House, it's nothing." Wilson's tone was sarcastic. _Come on, just tell him- stop being an ass and say it. Tritter attacked you. At least tell him that. _House held the tomato in his teeth and chewed down on it, sending the red juice right at Wilson's jacket. He looked down at the stain and then back at his friend. "That's very mature."

After swallowing it, House replied, "You started it." Before the argument could continue, House's phone went off. "Yeah?" he answered. The look on his face turned serious and Wilson frowned. "When?" Slowly, House moved his legs from the desktop and then hung up with an irritated look on his face. But behind that irritation, Wilson swore he could have seen fear. "To be continued," House said before Wilson could even try to ask. The cripple got up and immediately headed toward the doors of the hospital.

------

_What the hell…?_ House thought right as he walked into his apartment. Everything was thrown all over the place. The TV was pulled back from the wall, all of his books and files were on the floor, even his guitar was out of its case and cast aside. Slowly, House walked further into his home and looked around until he caught sight of a familiar silhouette leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom. "What are you doing here?" he asked, obviously irritated.

"Executing a search of the premises," Tritter replied, pushing off from the doorframe and walking toward the doctor. But the doctor wasn't listening to what else the son of a bitch had to say; that was enough. Tritter went on to say that he was searching for the pills and that House was a 'stupid addict'. Speaking like he was disciplining a child… _You deserve to be punished._ It was both of their voices then- his father's and Tritter's.

"In case you haven't noticed," House started, glaring right at the idiot cop, "those are prescription bottles. Now, I'm not an expert on linguistics, per se," he walked over and moved to pick up his guitar. The whole time he felt Tritter's eyes on him. Just that thought made him nervous. "But I think that means they were **prescribed**."

Again, Tritter rattled the pills but House did his best to ignore the cop while he put his guitar back in its case. "All of these were legally prescribed to a man who is in constant pain but never misses a day of work?"

"Ever consider that's _why_ I never miss a day?"

"I did… among many things." Just the tone of voice… House didn't even hear Tritter move to his side. Very slowly, House stood upright, but he didn't turn to look at Tritter. "Because if your unprofessional in one area," the cop continued, reaching out a moving a hand down House's side and then down his hip, "it only makes sense."

It was when his hand slipped lower that House finally jumped and pushed him away. "Get out." Of course, Tritter ignored him. "Maybe just a few of those pills are in someone else's name. Forged prescription, or just stolen from the shelf when no one was looking." The whole time, House was glaring at Tritter. _Damn it, of all things why did he have to be a damned cop…_

Before he knew it, the cop was walking close to him again. The cripple kept trying to stay strong when the whole time his heart was pounding painfully in his chest. "But," Tritter continued with a shrug, lifting a hand to caress the side of House's face, "you wouldn't do that, right?"

Immediately, House lifted his hands and pushed Tritter back. "Get the hell out of my house." He couldn't hide the trembling in his voice then, but he didn't feel he had to. The cop knew he was scared at that point. The same ugly smirk crossed his ugly, idiotic face as he went to pick up the bag of Vicodin again. Tritter gave it one more rattle before walking out of the apartment, leaving House to stand there alone. The doctor swallowed hard, slowly coming down from his fear. With a trembling sigh, he lifted a hand to his face and slowly ran it down over his eyes. That was when he had come to a realization that hit him hard: Tritter was never going to leave him alone.

------

"You wouldn't give up this easily if you weren't so busy dealing with your personal problems!" Cameron argued to House after he told her to send the patient home. The guy didn't want their help- what was the point of keeping him there if he wasn't going to accept treatment or any sort of help from them? _Just one less thing for me to worry about now…_ he thought as he limped around, searching for Wilson. When he caught sight of him at the vending machine, House turned toward Cameron. "Send him home."

_The only way the cop could have known about my stash was by talking to either Wilson or Cuddy_. "What did you tell the cop?" House asked, looking furious. Confused, Wilson held the bag of chips he bought and shrugged. "Nothing." Making himself look like the victim; it only made House even more upset. _Hold on; he doesn't know what happened… if you weren't an idiot and had told him yesterday, then he would have known and none of this would have happened. Stop being stupid and talk to him! _"Nothing as in nothing, or nothing as in nothing to cause him to think I wouldn't have a _stash_ in my apartment?"

"He called to see if I prescribed the pills, I said yes. That's all."

"Obviously not."

"What happened?"

House looked back down the hall the way he came. He was so sick of that question. _If you would just answer it maybe it wouldn't be asked so much…_ "He searched my house and found a butt- load of pills." Wilson sighed and looked off guiltily. If he had known that would have happened… House looked back at his friend and said, "All because you opened your big mouth." _What the hell are you doing?!_

"Oh, so it's _my_ fault?" Wilson asked, no longer feeling bad about what happened. How was it his fault? How was he supposed to know what was going to happen?

"I wasn't the one that talked to the cop."

"I'm not the one to stuck a thermometer up his rectum. So stop yelling at me and start talking to your lawyer." House just watched his friend as he searched for his change in the vending machine. _I don't want to talk to my lawyer I want to talk to y- Wilson… Jimmy, don't walk away. Please, I need to talk to __**you**__. I don't want to talk to anyone else… please. _"Wilson…" House started in a quiet voice.

The older doctor winced when he heard the irritated tone in Wilson's voice. "What _now_, House?" he asked, turning toward his friend with his shoulders slumped. _He's not going to believe me… not now._ He averted his gaze back down the hall before looking back at Wilson, who waited for him to talk. No words were coming out. House couldn't bring himself to say it; he felt embarrassed, scared. And apparently Wilson's patience was already tested too much and he just shook his head.

_Jimmy…_ House's heart sank when he watched his friend walk away. _Why couldn't you just tell him? Tritter attacked me. That's __**all**__ you had to say. And you were too stubborn to even do it. _With a soft sigh, House turned and slowly limped out of the hall in defeat.

------

"I know he can be an ass," Wilson said, "in fact, he has no problem lying when it serves him, but he's not lying about the pills. He needs the medication, which is why I prescribed it."

He sat at the desk in his hotel room, looking toward Tritter, who was sitting on a stool close by. Wilson felt something was off about all of this, but he had to tell Tritter the prescriptions were from him- even though Wilson himself wasn't all too sure about that answer himself. _I'm doing this for House,_ he thought to himself as he looked at the cop, who was eyeing him. That thought was what kept him confident. For now.

"Well, I see a lot of cases where people who have real injuries end up getting addicted," Tritter said. The younger doctor nodded and looked off for a moment, recalling back to when House had told him he was addicted to his Vicodin. Not that Wilson needed to be told; it wasn't hard to notice. "And then well, things spiral out of control," he added, which made Wilson smile. _It's true but House… no, he __**is**__ out of control._ "And lives get ruined, and not just their own."

Wilson chuckled to himself. Yes, he had heard all of that before. But regardless, House was still in some sort of control; he was able to do his job, live his life. And even though things did tend to get out of control, it was all for a reason. Running a hand through his hair, Wilson let out a small sigh and looked at Tritter, who was also smiling. _Why…?_ Wilson's brow furrowed just slightly before he spoke. "Well," he started and then shrugged, "I don't know what else to tell you."

Apparently, that wasn't a satisfying answer for the cop. He got up and pushed the stool closer to Wilson's desk. The doctor shifted uncomfortably in his seat, frowning and looking up at Tritter. "What about these?" he asked, chewing on his gum as he pulled out a laminated paper from a manila folder. Wilson almost hesitated to look at it, but his curiosity got the best of him. It was a prescription form for House- but the signature wasn't his. "This is getting…" _Oh no…_

"If it's got my name on it, it's a legitimate scrip," he added, sounding a little nervous now. Unfortunately, Tritter caught onto it and lifted his brow. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Because the signatures on these look a little different than the signatures on those." _Thanks for pointing that out, Sherlock_. He didn't like Tritter at all- now he knew why House didn't like him. However, there was no need for him to be so nervous about Tritter; House was never nervous when he talked about people he didn't like. He would simply say they were all idiots, but with the cop something was different.

Wilson grabbed the laminated paper and looked at the signature and compared it to the ones that he himself signed. It was definitely House's signature. _Damn it, House… you just dug yourself into a deep hole. _"You look surprised," Tritter said, expressing his triumph with a smile.

"No, it's just…" _Think fast._ "I hadn't thought about it. I do sign my name different sometimes." _That's the best you could do? He's not going to believe that. _And that was proved when Tritter scoffed. "You sure?"

"Yeah." he shrugged a shoulder, looking back at the papers. He couldn't look at Tritter anymore; the defeat of a failed lie was too hard to look at. "It's just that I get bored signing it the same way…" _Oh shut up, now __**you're **__getting yourself into a deeper hole, Wilson. Not only that but making yourself look like an idiot. _"You know what they say about doctors' handwriting."

And as expected, Tritter wasn't convinced. "I'm going to give you a moment to reconsider that answer. Because if you were for some reason mistaken, we will find out and it will not be good for you. Or Dr. House." It was just how he said it; Wilson didn't like how it sounded. Regardless, the doctor nodded. "I'm sure. Absolutely."

"All right." Tritter sounded and even looked disappointed. Wilson felt like he was being scolded for lying. But he had to- for House. "I guess that's it, then."

With one more nod, Wilson stood from his chair. And Tritter stood with him. They stood in an awkward pause for a few seconds that seemed like a long time for the doctor. He was caught in a lie- great. Something was going to happen and he wasn't going to like it… but the one thing that was really bothering him was the fact that House forged prescriptions. That only got him into deeper trouble; he could lose his job and go to jail.

Tritter held out his hand to Wilson, who hesitated before he shook it. "Thanks for your help," the cop said. Wilson let go after a few seconds. "Okay, no problem." And with that, Tritter walked out. A long sigh came from Wilson as he slowly turned back toward the papers in front of him. _How could House do that? He's caught… and he could go off to jail. Damn it…_ _I don't think I can help you now._ And that realization made him angrier not just at House, but also himself.


	3. How To Save A Life

**Chapter 3: How To Save A Life**

House was bored- as he had a tendency to get to be. So with his small portable TV and a tray with his lunch, he decided to hang out with the coma patients. Why? Because it was quiet and the last place anyone would look for him. And why didn't he want anyone to find him? He had a hunch he was in trouble. There was that dull warning ache in his leg, which was easily fixed with Vicodin that he still had left on him. But his relief soon faded when he saw Wilson arrive in the room, looking pretty upset. _Here we go_, House thought to himself as he took a bite from his sandwich.

"What are you doing down here?" the younger man asked, standing in front of his friend. "I thought you usually had lunch with Coma Guy."

"This is Vegetative State Guy," House replied, grabbing a napkin to wipe his hands, "Better company." Before anything else could be said, Wilson got to the main reason why he was there in the first place. "You stole my prescription pad and you forged my name." His tone was angry, not even bothering to hold that back from his friend.

Slowly, House's brow furrowed. The only way Wilson could have known that was if… _Ah damn. _"What did you tell the cop?" House didn't even like saying the asshole's name; he always called him 'the cop'. He would have used other more crude names, but he decided to be somewhat polite since they were in public. If Wilson said anything, House would go to jail- and who knows what Tritter could do to him there.

"I lied," Wilson replied, "They'd have put you away for _ten years_, after they took your license to practice medicine." _Scold me all you want; it's not going to change what happened_, House's mind said, but he replied with something else, "So everything's good, then."

Wilson was about to go crazy. House was just blowing all of this off like it was nothing. "_I lied to a cop_!"

"There is no case unless they can prove I got the drugs illegally or I sold them illegally." _There's nothing to worry about; the cop's going to have to do worse than that to get to me. Then again, he already did something worse… _"I didn't do the second and you lied about the first. Game over." Most of what he said was only to reassure himself- even though House was right. What proof did the cop have on him? And Wilson's lie seemed to help cover his ass. Cover his ass… should have thought of that plan a long time ago.

He rolled his eyes at House. "Yeah, Tritter's just playing. He's gonna see how clever you are and just walk away." The crippled doctor couldn't help but scoff. _I wish it was that easy…_ But wishing got him nowhere, House found that out the hard way. For a moment his gaze averted from Wilson. "The important thing is that you should keep prescribing the same amount of drugs to me or it'll look suspicious." _My damn leg hurts so bad. _House resisted the urge to rub at it, not wanting Wilson to think he was trying to put up a sympathy act.

Sarcastically, Wilson nodded and then retorted with, "Here's another way to look at it, having forced me to lie to the police, your _first concern_ is securing your drug connection." Again, House averted his gaze, showing that he really didn't care what Wilson had to say anymore. He wasn't getting through to his friend; what was the point of carrying on the conversation, then? "Way to kill the reassurance," he muttered.

"What?"

"Hm?" his brow rose while he returned his gaze toward Wilson, acting like he never said anything. _You're so close- here's your chance to tell him. No one else can hear. Tell him what Tritter did._ The look on his face started to become more serious but before anything could be said, another younger man walked into the room. Just by looking at him, House knew he had akinetopsia and- in his usual fashion- confirmed the diagnosis by triggering a seizure. That ended that conversation for the time being and House mentally kicked himself for it.

The kid that came in was suffering more from his illness with the treatments given, and there was no valid family history that the team could get. So House came up with the idea to wake up the "Vegetative State Guy" since he was the patient's father. But Cuddy wasn't all for the idea; she had yelled at House after he already injected the drugs to attempt to wake the patient. But after a few minutes they were all surprised to find the man actually woke up.

------

"He didn't want to talk about his son?" Wilson asked House. The rumors had been already going around about waking up Vegetative State Guy and he just wanted to get it confirmed by the guy responsible. Of course the natural response would have been to call House an idiot; there was the risk he could have killed the man. But the thought of the patient not seeming to care about his son swiped the other thoughts away.

"He didn't seem to emotionally register that his son was sick," House replied, limping at Wilson's side through the halls.

"Brain issue? He had spent ten years as an asparagus, who knows what damage is in there."

"It's possible. Or it could be the simple idea that he doesn't like his son." House was trying to get the subject back to what they had been talking about earlier; when House was so close to being able to tell Wilson what happened with the cop. But Wilson didn't seem to be getting the hint. "Only in your world is it that simple."

The other doctor just averted his gaze. _Come on Wilson- figure it out; when I talk about my dad, you know what that means. Just listen. _"The delusion that fathering a child installs a permanent geyser for unconditional love…"

Apparently whatever House wanted to say, Wilson didn't want to hear. "Maybe your father's feelings were very conditional, not everyone's." For a moment House held his tongue. Wilson didn't want to talk about it… well, they were in a hall with other nurses and doctors running around, but still there were other more private places they could go. House wanted to talk to him and he was just blowing him off. It hurt- a lot. However House wasn't one to let that show. That was when he started to try getting stubborn again. "Yes, of course that would play into your romantic vision of…"

Wilson stopped walking with House, raising his voice with an irritated tone, "In terms you would understand, we have an evolutionary incentive to sacrifice for our offspring. Our tribe, our friends. _To keep them safe_." _I lied to the cops for you; I'm trying to keep you safe, House. _

_Except I was already hurt, Wilson. If you'd listen, you would have known that by now!_ "Except for all the people who don't." House snapped back bitterly. "Everything is conditional. You just can't anticipate all of the conditions." _Oh yeah smart move- keep pushing him away; he'll __**really**__ start caring now. Way to go._ Closing his eyes, House let out a rather defeated sigh and turned to start walking away, wincing when his leg and shoulder started to ache all over again.

------

The last thing Cameron expected when she was walking in the halls was to see the man that House had been talking to only a day ago. Right off the bat, she didn't like him at all. _He's definitely someone I need to keep an eye on_, she thought as she followed the cop into a more private room. She was being interrogated; Tritter asked about House's pills and how much he took and she replied the best she could so House wouldn't get into trouble- if he already wasn't. _He doesn't need to deal with this now; he has enough on his mind as it is._

"What do you want me to say?" she asked, "that he's taking too many pills and he's a danger to the hospital, or that he's taking too few and selling them on the side? Either one is ridiculous." _Give it up and leave him alone._

"I meant the former," Tritter replied, not taking the hint that Cameron so boldly stated. He really was a persistent one, she would give him that. "You're wrong." was her reply.

"Can I ask what Dr. House has done to deserve your loyalty?" The question wasn't one she expected, really. Since one, she wasn't so sure herself about the answer- not that it mattered; she cared about House and she wanted to protect him. She didn't seem to care what Tritter said- until he mentioned Wilson and the forged prescriptions. Cameron's brow narrowed slightly and that seemed to only slightly surprise the cop. "He didn't tell you?" he asked, almost scoffing, "I find that odd; you defend him, yet he tells you nothing of his personal life."

_Why is he talking like he knows House?_ Cameron didn't like this one bit- she hated the man that stared back at her with his icy cold gaze. _Who does he think he is?_ But… he was right. She didn't know about the situation with House and Wilson- or anything about his personal life. Before she could respond, Cameron's pager went off, which meant she had to excuse herself from the cop. _I'm not finished with him,_ she thought as she walked out of the room. If he did anything to House… she wasn't going to take that sitting down.

She was pretty convinced House wouldn't steal Wilson's prescription pad; he was House's best friend! But Foreman was arguing otherwise, saying House was a junkie and that he would do it if Wilson said no to him. Cameron reluctantly took that into account, but still she wanted to defend house; Tritter was taking this whole thing too seriously- dragging Chase and Foreman out for their own interrogations. And all behind House's back… it definitely wasn't right.

------

House, Vegetative State Guy- as he called the patient, whose real name was Gabriel- and Wilson were going to Atlantic City. Why? The guy wanted a sandwich. Even House couldn't believe it; his son was dying and having a liver biopsy and all the guy cared about was getting a sandwich. But as long as they could get the information that they needed to help his son, House didn't care what needed to be done; give Vegetative State Guy the best day of his life before he falls asleep again, and then save another life. Only he didn't expect Wilson to tag along. That and a new 'game' the patient wanted to play: for every question House asked him, he got to ask House a question. And House went along with the little game, regardless of how annoying it seemed to get.

However, he found the answer he was looking for: Gabriel was a boat builder and he let his son run around the factory. He could have been watching the worker's paint and what kid wore a mask? House called the office and told Foreman to run tests, finding it strange that Chase wasn't there, though… but he dismissed the concern and they got to Atlantic City- where the sandwich place was no longer existent. So instead, they went to a hotel with a casino- just the way Vegetative State Guy wanted.

In the hotel room, they kept asking more questions, a little more random than before since House believed he got his answer about the diagnosis. But once the patient asked one, Wilson interrupted. "No, I got a better one," he said, "why _my_ pad? Anyone on your team would be just as legitimate. But their association with you is involuntary; they're employees. I work with you through choice. And any relationship that involves choice you have to see how far you can push before it breaks."

House just turned his gaze away. _We're still on this subject? Just let it go Wilson- please. That's not as important as what happened with the cop… _"This is easy. You ask the questions, answer them and then make tasty snacks!" _And that didn't make things better… _Unable to be there with Wilson while he was thinking back to that, House looked at Vegetative State Guy, "Let's try the casino."

"And one day our friendship _will_ break, Wilson continued, "and that'll just prove your theory that relationships are conditional, and you don't need human connection or deserve it, or whatever goes on in that rat-maze brain."

_For once would you just stop listening to what I say and focus more on how I would actually feel?! I NEED to talk to __**you**__- open your damn eyes and see that! Jimmy, you know I'm not that hard to figure out- you're the only one that really knows me. __**HELP ME!**_ He really wanted to say that to Wilson, but once again his true thoughts and feelings were kept away. House couldn't look at Wilson anymore; blue hues turned to the stranger. "Sorry if I had known he would be this annoying I would have stolen Cameron's pad and Foreman's car." _And I'm not helping in any way._

When his cell phone rang, House answered it and spoke with Foreman about the tests. Mercury poisoning had been negative. The doctor told Foreman to do an echo and hung up. "I was wrong," he said to Gabriel, "your son is still dying. Tell me everything about your relatives again. This time forget their diseases, just tell me how much they died." House paused a moment to check his watch. "And we don't have time to take turns. Answer all my questions and you'll get a big one in the end…" there was only a slight pause before he added, "you can go for anyone you want. Destroy my privacy…" his gaze then shifted to Wilson, who seemed to be pretty surprised by House's deal. "… my dignity."

The last part was aimed at Wilson. What did he do to destroy House's dignity? He didn't do anything, but he knew someone that did… Finally House could see the wheels start to turn in Wilson's head and that brought some sort of relief to him. _At least now he's starting to think…_ he thought as he started to listen to Gabriel.

------

"Why did you become a doctor?"

His brow rose at the question. "That's the big question? I give you a chance to dig into my personal life and that's the best you can do?" House asked, seeming to be taunting Gabriel. But after a while of convincing, House did answer. The whole time he knew that Wilson was still thinking about the offer House gave Gabriel. _What's going on in his head? House, you have to give me more hints than what you're giving me…_ And that was when the crippled man realized he wasn't getting through to Wilson. His hopes fell back down and once again he was back at square one.

"What happened in the fire?" House asked since it was his turn. They heard the story again in more detail, House taking mental notes until he came up with the real diagnosis for the kid- red-ragged fiber. He called Foreman to tell him the news. But there was a problem: the kid was having a heart problem. Either way, he was going to die. That ended up with the three of them stuck again. There was no way that trip was all done in vain; there had to be some sort of a solution they could come up with.

"I want to give Kyle my heart," Gabriel said about his son. Both doctors looked at him, and Wilson seemed to be the only one concerned about the decision. But the father made his decision. So House called Cuddy, who- as usual- turned down the deal. "Fine, I'll think of something else," House said and hung up the phone.

The two men looked at the crippled doctor as he limped to his seat, sitting down and thinking to himself. _The guy's not going to need his heart if he falls asleep again, and his son is dying. The only option…_ "Wilson, get out."

His friend was shocked by the sudden command. _What's House planning no-_ he hesitated, the idea immediately coming to his mind. "No."

House knew that Wilson was starting to get the idea. He had done enough for House as it was; he didn't want to push anymore on his and Wilson's friendship. "You lied to the cops enough for me." Wilson stayed where he was, silently repeating his answer to House. "Maybe I don't want to push this till it breaks." _I need you, Jimmy… please._

The younger doctor looked at his friend and frowned, shaking his head slowly as he reluctantly moved to walk out of the room, closing the door behind himself. House turned to look over his shoulder, making sure Wilson was out of the room before he said anything. "Pills are the simplest. Hanging has less risk of damaging the heart."

Gabriel showed no sign of surprise or fear in his eyes. Instead, he merely nodded and said, "I'm okay with pain." House nodded only slightly and added, "Strangulation has less chance of breaking the neck; it'll be slow…" he warned, making sure that Gabriel really was willing to go through with it. He was a little surprised that the man didn't show any sign of surprise or curiosity as to how House knew all about that. Well, he _was_ a doctor, but that didn't mean he hadn't been in that darker state of mind sometime back in the day…

The father lowered his gaze to the tabletop. As he watched him, House's opinion on all relationships being conditional was starting to be proved wrong. Gabriel really did care about his son; the reason he left was because he didn't want to watch him die. And now, to get the chance to give his son a life, House was almost surprised to hear the father want to go through with taking his own life to protect his son… to keep him safe. Of course he wasn't going to admit it openly; besides, now wasn't the time. "Tell my son…" Gabriel started and House looked up. But nothing came out. "… I don't know what to tell him." Once more there was a pause. "I think it's my turn for a question, right?"

"I don't think so," House replied, "'cause you just asked me one." He then paused and decided to make an exception. The guy was about to commit suicide, after all. "What do you want to know?"

"If you could hear one thing from your father, what would it be?"

Immediately, House lowered his gaze. His leg started to get sore again, but he did his best to ignore it. Honestly, he didn't want to talk to his father ever again; he hated the guy. "It wouldn't help you." _Trust me._ Gabriel wasn't like his own father; definitely not like him. Gabriel kept his son safe; House's father was just out to torture him. Whatever House would want him to say wouldn't help the situation.

"Try me."

The crippled man tilted his head to the side, almost as if to shake his head no. It was just like with all the others; he was being pushed to answer. Yet he felt he could be open with the man; pick at his brain a little since he was a father himself. House looked up once more at Gabriel, almost as if to see if he was sure. His answer was silence. "He did something… something horrible. And I won't- can't- forgive him for it." House paused to swallow a lump in his throat, now looking down at his hands which were nervously fidgeting in front of himself. "I would want him to say… he knew he did something wrong and that he was sorry." _But that's not going to happen; I'm just a naughty little boy to him that deserved to be punished… _His thoughts turned back to reassuring himself. _I did nothing wrong- it was all his fault._

"You're right; that didn't help," the man replied, turning his gaze toward the tabletop again. "I'm sorry…"

House merely shrugged his good shoulder. There was nothing to be sorry for; the guy didn't know what happened in his past. And so with that, House moved out into the hall slowly, letting Gabriel tae his time to end his life the way he wanted. Wilson was nowhere in sight, so he just sat down in the hall and started to try and once again shut out the memories from his past. _You've been a bad boy, Greg,_ his father would say. House could still feel the hands on his skin- over his sides, stomach, his hips- even lower… _this hurts me more than it does you._ Softly, House hit the back of his head against the wall, the voice leaving his mind at the sound of the thud. He moved to cross his arms in front of himself, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. He took out his bottle of Vicodin, which only had four pills left inside. Taking one, he sighed and once again closed his eyes, catching the sound of a thud from inside of the room. Then silence.

------

_That son of a bitch sure was busy while I was away_, House thought bitterly as he limped toward Wilson in the hospital. The operation on the father and son was successful and now they could move on with their lives. Well, for the most part. House still had his issue with Tritter and apparently, Wilson's issues were just getting started. He stood before an ATM, trying to get more money out of his account. But the first attempt denied him access to his account.

"Did you know Tritter was-" Wilson started. House cut him off, though. "Yeah, I heard. They all told me. Which means none of them said anything I have to worry about." _Thankfully my team is smarter than I thought._ The ATM beeped at Wilson again, which seemed to catch House's curiosity. "What's wrong?"

Shrugging, Wilson lifted his cell phone to his ear. House glanced toward the machine, his brow furrowed. _What else had that bastard been up to…_ Apparently Tritter wasn't out just for him, but for Wilson, too. No, he wouldn't go after him, Wilson was too strong to fall to Tritter's will. He was using Wilson to get to House. He frowned and looked at his friend as he hung up his phone with a sigh.

"My accounts have been frozen due to a _police_ investigation," he replied, sliding his wallet into his coat pocket in defeat. Clearly upset, House turned his gaze away, so many crude names for the cop going off in his mind. _First he screws me over- literally- and now he's screwing Wilson over. He wants me to lose it. That's not going to happen- not again. He's not going to win this time._ "They can't keep your money forever."

"No, but they can keep it until I agree to help put you in prison for ten years." _I know you wouldn't let that happen, Jimmy… thank you. _"You're getting dinner," Wilson added as he started to walk off. And House did look upset, but not at Wilson; this was the last straw. Tritter wasn't going to mess with Wilson and get away with it. _He can mess with me, but dragging Wilson into this is where I draw the line. _Slowly, he limped after his friend, thinking of ways that he could face Tritter again.


	4. Hey Now

[Hey! Just wanted to thank everyone for the reviews =D I'm surprised with the positive reviews- keep it up! It helps motivate me to type more! Again, the show doesn't belong to me, nor do its characters. Enjoy and again let me know what you think!]

**Chapter 4: Hey Now**

"I was not parked illegally- I _live_ here!" Wilson argued with the cop, who just kept writing out his ticket. He had walked out from his home to find that the police were towing his car away. Why?_ I parked in that spot all the time!_ The doctor stood by the officer as he ripped out the ticket and said, "A love note from Tritter."

Wilson took the ticket and let his shoulders slump. First his money and now his car… what else was he going to take? _If House would have just apologized to the guy none of this would have happened, _he thought as he went to go visit his divorce lawyer since he was told he could help get his car back. The guy was in a rush to get to court since Wilson was late. They argued back and forth about the case and the six hundred pills found in House's apartment.

"If you want your car back," the lawyer said, "just give the police what they want."

_I'm not going to betray House_. "Thanks," Wilson replied sarcastically, "usually people feel so helpless in these situations."

"Dr. House is probably going to jail. You keep lying for him, you'll go right along with him." When the lawyer left his office, Wilson sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face. _He's right; I'll be going with House. But he's my friend; I can't turn him over to the cop. House hates the guy- more than he really should. I can't turn him over to Tritter. _He then started to walk out of the lawyer's office and back outside. _At the same time, though, I don't want to go to jail. There's got to be another way so we both won't go…_

"You're just getting here?" Cuddy asked looking surprised as Wilson walked up to the front desk.

"Busses suck," was his only reply as he looked down at a message given by the nurse.

"Where's your car?"

"It's a hostage." He finally looked at her. "Tritter wants me to testify against House."

She looked at him in complete disbelief and frustration. "You're not going to."

_Do I really have a choice? House is my friend, but… I'm already stressed out as it is; going to jail's not going to help that._ "Is that a question or an order?" he asked as he started to walk toward the pharmacy. Cuddy didn't hesitate to follow after him. "Any sort of conviction will cost House his license…"

"Which will cost this hospital. Relax. I'm not going to mess with your precious resource." _I'll figure something out. _"I told my lawyer to tell Tritter to go to hell. Marco!" The man behind the pharmacy counter looked up at Wilson. "Why are my prescriptions being held back?"

Marco looked down at the paper before shaking his head a bit. "Sorry Dr. Wilson, I was trying to call you. Where's your phone?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "In my car. My patients on the other hand are here and need their medications."

"I'm sorry, I can't. Your DEA number's been suspended." _You've got to be __**kidding **__me. _Wilson thought, looking back toward Cuddy in utter disbelief. Tritter was going to kill his patients! Wilson was being pushed back into a corner with only a few options; the one about helping House was slowly starting to be forgotten at that point.

"Why so sad?" House asked as Wilson walked into his office in defeat. But once he got a good look at his friend, House started to look more concerned.

"The DEA has revoked my prescription privileges." House's brow furrowed at the news, looking off in thought for a moment. _Of course __**now**__ you're concerned… _Wilson thought before House spoke again. "Who's going to prescribe my Vicodin?"

That reply was no surprise. "Yeah well, that's why I'm here. This is such a disaster for you." he wasn't in the mood for that; Wilson had the false hopes that House would actually care, but obviously that wasn't going to happen. _All he cares about is himself and his damned Vicodin._

"Relax." House wasn't showing any sympathy for him. He was aware of why all of that was happening to Wilson and House was going to find a way to take care of it. "The cop's just getting desperate. He's got no real evidence." _Just hold on, Jimmy. _"He's trying to squeeze you into ratting."

_And it's working pretty damn well._ "I'm not going to let him squeeze my patients."

House's eyes flickered with worry for only a moment, as if he read Wilson's mind. But he covered it up with a nod. "They'll be fine. Most of your cancer medicine sucks, anyway."

_I'm really not in the mood for this, House…_ "I'm gonna use your team to do my prescribing until this is all straightened out." And with that, Wilson left the office again. His team, who was still in the room, looked back at House as if he was going to answer the question that they all had on their minds. But the doctor just continued on the subject of their patient and his case. After trying to cure the patient of his Hepatitis A, it turned out that he caught something else.

"Interesting," House said as he turned toward his white board to write. "What infections cause DIC?" as he moved his right arm up, he winced. The pain in his shoulder had only faded slightly since the night he was arrested. He moved his other hand to rub at it gently.

"Are you all right?" Cameron asked with concern. House turned and looked at her. _No, I'm not all right. A few nights ago I was assaulted, beaten in the shoulder, thrown in a cage, and now the son of a bitch won't leave me the hell alone. And my Vicodin is very limited. So no, I'm not fine. _"Hurt my shoulder playing fantasy football," he replied sarcastically, summing up what he thought into that fake story.

She got the hint and left him alone. House pulled out his Vicodin bottle, which only had a few pills left inside. With a soft sigh, he took two of them. Since he was limited, he had to save them. But that still kept the pain in his shoulder and his leg and he stood rather uncomfortably. Cameron seemed to notice and almost asked again when Wilson walked in. "I need one of you," he said, looking at House's team.

"Take Cameron," House said quickly. She looked at him, confused. "Your idea was dumb, anyway." Rolling her eyes, Cameron walked out of the office with Wilson. After discussing what needed to be done for the patient, House took Chase to the side, lifting his almost empty prescription bottle and rattling whatever pills were left inside. "I need a refill."

"Tritter knows about the prescriptions I wrote before," Chase replied."

_I__diot._ "Exactly, if you stop now it'll look suspicious."

The younger doctor looked at House strangely. "Does anyone fall for that argument?" _Apparently not, _House thought with an irritated sigh. "Write the script." The look on the other's face turned more into a glare. He wasn't going to get himself in trouble because House couldn't handle his addiction. "No."

_Again, you're an idiot._ "One prescription isn't gonna make…"

"We both know it's not going to be just one. I'd rather lose my job than lose my license." And with that, Chase walked out of the office. Frowning, House shook the bottle again and leaned back in his chair. Tritter was getting to him- no _trying _to, he had to correct himself. Taking his Vicodin away wasn't as bad as what happened that night, but for House it was pretty close. He _needed_ those pills to do his job. He needed them so he wouldn't be in so much pain- the pain that reminded him of what had happened with the cop…

------

So many complications were going on with Wilson having Cameron writing his prescriptions. Since they would be under her name, Tritter would read them and who knew what was going to happen then. In the mean time, however, the two did what they could to let Wilson keep prescribing his meds to his patients. However one of them was uncomfortable with Cameron there and as they tried to reason with the breast cancer patient, she only jumped to the conclusion that Wilson had gotten her meds wrong. _This is just spiraling down_, he thought as he shook his head at himself. _I don't want to testify against House; he's my friend. I can't do that to him. _

But how long was that reason going to last for? Tritter was taking everything important away from Wilson- to the point where he couldn't do his job properly. If House wasn't going to do what Tritter wanted, then maybe Wilson would… he had to do it for his patients. _What am I saying? I'm still able to prescribe my patients with their meds. I'm not going to give up yet. House still has time to do what's right. And if he can't… then he's on his own._

------

"OW!" House groaned, glaring back at the nurse that was massaging his shoulder. _You're supposed to take away the pain… damn. _She merely grinned at him. "Found it," she chimed.

"Fix it," House ordered as he sat there with his back to her. He looked back toward Foreman, who was standing in front of him and talking about the case. Apparently he broke the patient's rib wile taking some spinal fluid. They had to find out what was wrong with that, but then House cried out again and rewarded the nurse with another glare. "You're supposed to take the pain _away_," he said. But he knew no one could do that- not the emotional pain, anyway.

"Have you ever considered that you're using your cane on the wrong side?" she snapped back at him. Clearly, she didn't want to hear him complain either. With a small scoff, House rolled his eyes. "Right- Friday night my cane's suddenly noticed it was on the wrong side." _Cold hearted bitch… ever consider that it's __**not **__my fault this time? He attacked me- it wasn't my fault…_ he kept reassuring himself but now the more he thought it, the less he believed. He looked at Foreman again. The pain was getting to him badly- obviously. "Can you score me some Vicodin?"

"No."

_Worth a shot… _"OOOW!" He screamed and looked at her. "Why do you only do that when I'm talking?!" Finally, the nurse let go and House lowered his arm, his shoulder throbbing painfully. "You gotta rest your shoulder," she said, crossing her arms as she looked at the crippled man. He started reaching for his cane, but the nurse was faster. "And we're gonna get you on some different equipment." His brow narrowed and his gaze shifted toward Foreman, whose brow rose lightly. House didn't want the sling or a new cane, but if he didn't, neither of them was going to let him out of the room. So reluctantly, House put on the sling and walked with the ugliest cane he had ever seen. _This is stupid,_ he thought. He had to admit, though, the pain in his shoulder was easing as it rested in the sling. But the cane… he hated it.

However the case took his mind off of that- and other things; the kid went from having one infection to three. The game was rigged; how could the guy have three infections at once? He figured it was because the kid still did drugs, but after running a test House was proven wrong. But other things were on his mind; he needed to find Cameron. The pain in his shoulder got better and the cane was just irritating. After swapping canes with a patient and throwing his sling away, House found Cameron and popped the question.

"I'm not writing you a prescription for Vicodin," she said, putting her hair up. After having been in the sauna to get the patient's sample, Cameron had just finished cleaning herself up. "I only got two pills left," House said, sitting down and watching her look back at him. "Cut them in half- then you'll have four."

House rolled his eyes. _What happened to caring about my aches and pains? _"You're prescribing for Wilson. Wilson prescribes for me. Write up a script."

Like a mother disciplining her child, Cameron placed her hands on her hips. "You know you have a problem."

_Really? I could have figured that out on my own._ "Yeah. It's got a badge and everything."

"You're taking too much…"

"Fine! You're right. What's the correct amount? Write up a script for the correct amount." _I don't need to hear this; it's like talking to a broken record. I know all of this already._ There was no answer for him. Cameron just stared back at him. "No answer? That's 'cause we're having the wrong debate. This isn't about my problem, it's about your problem. You're afraid that if you write me a prescription you're gonna wind up like Wilson."

Cameron finally defended herself. "Of course I am." _Damn cop… I need Vicodin- something to make this pain go away._ House lowered his gaze, shaking his head slowly. "The cop wants to win by giving pain. Do you really want to be part of that? As a doctor, how do you do that?" House could see the guilt in her gaze. The woman sighed and turned back to her locker. She couldn't give him a prescription; it would only get her into trouble. So she took a bottle of pills and tossed them to House.

"Here, take those. It takes the edge off my PMS, it should do wonders for you," she said while she walked out. House watched her go, looking down at the bottle and then at the floor. _What did I do to deserve this? _Placing Cameron's pills to the side, House took out his Vicodin and took more of the pills. He shook the bottle- only to get silence. His brow furrowed and he threw the empty bottle away. He was out- that wasn't good.

"Okay fine, I'll father your child," he muttered sarcastically to Cuddy. She was his last chance to get anything; he _needed_ those pills. The pain was getting to be too much. And with the thought of Tritter on top of that, it was only getting worse. "First you gotta write me a Vicodin prescription. Just so I can get through the foreplay."

Cuddy wasn't amused. "How many days do you have left?"

"Aaah probably could get through the next minute or so." _Hurry up and get me the prescription already. It hurts so bad…_

Slowly, the Dean of Medicine got up from her seat, her eyes still on House. "And your coming to me means your lackeys actually stood up to you. I'm impressed."

_Good for you- get me my meds._ "Yes, their cowardice is inspiring."

"Well, you should be thanking them. If they caved, it's give the cops evidence that you intimidated underlings to feed your addiction."

_It's not the damned addiction this time- __**I'M IN PAIN!**_ He sighed in frustration and looked at Cuddy as she sat down in her desk. "I hate writing thank you notes." But then he paused, seeing Cuddy pull out her prescription pad. "You're writing me up?"

"Unfortunately. If I cut you off, it's give the cops evidence that you don't actually _need_ the pain meds." _**FINALLY!**_ Relieved, House returned to his normal self. "I _knew_ that cleavage was a smokescreen. You're a genius." He limped to the desk and extended his arm, which he still couldn't lift properly. "You can't lift your arm," she pointed out.

"You can't pee standing up," he retorted. "Gimme."

"You've been doing physio? Maybe you pulled…"

_And again, it's my fault. Of course, when isn't it… _"Yeah. Been training for Pants Off-Dance Off. Give me the script."

Cuddy closed her eyes. "Your shoulder pain isn't physical." _Uh, excuse me?_ Even the look on House's face expressed what he was thinking. _I __**felt**__ the guy slam my shoulder into a goddamn wall. I was trying to avoid getting… hurt, and unfortunately it happened anyway- for both things. _He then took a minute to calm himself down. _She doesn't know… no one knows. Someone should, but they don't because I'm too damn scared. Suck it up. _"Well, we'll find out if you ever give me that-"

"What's new?" Immediately House pulled back. "What's different? Any big changes in your life recently?" _Other than getting raped and stalked by the bastard of a cop? No, nothing._ "Fight with the wife maybe?" the tone of sarcasm was evident, but the way she said it made House realize something about the case. "I am right, right?" she asked with a chuckle.

"Yeah- just not about me." He was about to leave, but then remembered the script. He had been so used to getting rejected that he forgot about it for a split second. Quickly, he leaned over and grabbed it with his good arm before limping quickly out of the room.

------

While they were working, House had kicked Wilson out of his office rather harshly after he had asked for someone on his team to write a prescription for a patient. He solved the case easily. Sure he preformed a test that wasn't necessarily FDA approved, but what had House not done that wasn't approved? But the kid didn't want to be treated; he wanted a way out of playing Mr. Mom by staying sick. After proving that to Foreman, House limped off to Wilson's office to check on his friend. Normally he didn't say sorry, but House was unintentionally pushing their friendship all over again and he just needed to say he was sorry.

Poking his head into Wilson's office, House said, "Want to go throw stuff at people off the balcony?" Wilson didn't respond; he just kept sorting through the folders on his desk. Letting out a small huff of a sigh, House slipped inside of the office and shut the door behind him. "Come on, mail can wait."

"I'm referring my patients to other oncologists, "Wilson replied. "I'm shutting down my practice."

_Wait, what?_ Doing his best not to look surprised, House walked over to the couch in the oncologist's office and sat down. "Oh good. 'Cause I was afraid you might overreact." That was when Wilson snapped. "I can't just ask my patients to wait because Dr. Cameron's boss won't let her come out and play!" _Damn it._ House rolled his eyes but more at himself rather than Wilson. "I kept you waiting for maybe an hour-"

"_Three hours!_"

"Anybody die?"

"Not this time." House pointed a thumb behind himself, not yet realizing how listless he sounded right now. "Cameron's available now. Use her all you want." That only set off Wilson even more. "Oh, so now's a better time for me to have my life taken away? It fits into your schedule better?"

Sitting down on the couch, House's brow narrowed. _It's not all about you, Jimmy! Believe it or not I'm suffering, too. _"Oh poor you. Think if you suffer loudly enough-"

"You committed a crime!"

_**He**__ committed the crime, not me!_ "What do you want me to do, turn myself in?"

"Yes! _Yes!_ Do something! Go in! Show some remorse!" He couldn't believe what was coming out of Wilson's mouth. _You want me to turn myself into that sick perverted bastard? Jimmy, don't say that- you don't mean it. I need your help; just give me time- just a little more time._ "Tell Tritter you'll get some help!"

"I don't need help!" That was a huge lie- another thing House would regret saying. His mind screamed for help from Wilson, and there he was denying it all and shattering any chance of being saved from Tritter. Wilson shook his head, lowering his gaze. He was so upset- he couldn't even look at House. "Get out, House… just get out of here." Immediately his expression switched. House felt scared again; Wilson wasn't going to help him now. "Jimmy…" he said quietly, his tone sounding hurt. But his friend wasn't going for it; he thought House was being his old sarcastic self. If he had only looked up at his friend… "Just go House, I don't want you here."

"J-Jimmy, I didn't mean-"

"GO!"

_No! Jimmy, I need to talk to you. Just hear me out- I was attacked. I can't turn myself in, I can't talk to Tritter. He's just going to hurt me again. I can't say it enough. I need your help. I'm an idiot; just please…_ "You're not going to make me feel guilty about what Tritter is doing to _us_." He scoffed and shook his head, staying at his desk while House stood up. "You already feel guilty." House glared at Wilson now, the fear turning into anger and frustration toward him. "That pain in your shoulder? It's not a physical pain-"

"Yes it is- I'm pretty sure it is considering the asshole attacked me and threw me into a goddamn wall!" House wasn't ready for that. It just came out without any thought. For a moment there was silence between the two, Wilson looking at House and seeming to contemplate reconsidering where he stood in that argument. _House wouldn't just make something like that up… right?_ "What do you want me to do? Tell me what do you want me to do? You were either gonna help me through this, or you weren't. I got my answer."

House was trying his hardest not to shake, his hold on his cane tightening as he stood there. He was going to jail- without a doubt. Tritter was going to win and that scared the crap out of him. _Just listen to me… that's all I want. Give me time and listen._ "… Forget it." House muttered and limped out of the office. For the rest of his shift at the hospital, House hid in his office, staring out the window and watching the thunderstorm outside for hours. _Maybe I should turn myself in; just suck it up and deal with whatever Tritter has in store for me._ _Wilson's not going to listen anymore; I pushed our friendship to it's limit; there's no pulling it back now._

When his shift was over, House drove his motorcycle out of the parking lot. As he drove, he caught sight of Wilson sitting at the bus stop on his own. He made the decision to stop in front of his ex-friend, but no words were spoken. _Just tell, him you're sorry; tell him you do need help and tell him that Tritter hurt you and maybe he'll listen._

His eyes searched for any sign that Wilson was willing to talk- or at least listen. But the younger doctor just turned his gaze away, giving House the cold shoulder. _I should have known._ With a heavy heart, the crippled doctor turned his head forward again and drove back to his apartment. His leg was hurting a lot worse than before. After getting some morphine from a box he kept in his closet, House sat on his couch and felt miserable for the rest of the sleepless night.


	5. Against All Odds

**Chapter 5: Against All Odds**

_You're kidding, right?_ House thought, looking down at the two pills of Vicodin in his hand. He looked back at Cuddy, who had an amused smile on her face. In a sense, it was her way of getting back at House for pointing a laser pointer at her chest while having a meeting in her office. But this… two lousy pills? It wasn't enough to even take away a dull ache. "Where's my prescription?" he asked.

"No more free-floating prescriptions," Cuddy replied, "Princeton PD has already forced Wilson to shut down." House rolled his eyes. _All of this is about the cop- of course. But then in the end it's my fault. Tritter attacked me first- __**he **__should have to apologize to __**me**__. _"A cop says "Boo," Wilson shuts down."

"Every doctor in this place is afraid to make a move without covering his ass." The taller doctor scoffed and shook his head. _Good plan- wish I'd thought of it before._ "Don't you think you're yelling at the wrong person?" he asked. "Tritter's obviously out to get me…" _Again._ "He doesn't…"

"You forged prescriptions!" Cuddy hissed angrily.

House shrugged. "Allegedly." With an exhausted look on her face, Cuddy looked up at House. "Your pain has become _my_ pain. From now on, you get reasonable doses at reasonable times." _No- No, no, no, no… I can't work without those pills; I'm in pain, Cuddy. Come on…_ "But I hurt in unreasonable ways."

"Then dip into your secret stash." She looked back at him with a raised brow. "Tritter took it." _Along with other things._ "Then dip into your secret, secret stash," she argued. _Strike two. _"I ran out." She rolled her eyes, having had enough of House already that morning. "Then dip into your secret, secret, secret stash!" _How…? _House wasn't able to ask how Cuddy knew about his triple secret stash… it only meant he would have to hide it better if Tritter ever decided to stop by his office like he did to his home.

------

"What are you doing here?" Wilson asked House as he shut the door to the break room behind him. The crippled doctor kept playing his PSP and looked over at his former friend while he went to go make himself a sandwich. _He's still mad- great._ "What're _you_ doing here?" House retorted.

"I work here," was Wilson's simple reply. House didn't miss a beat. "You passively-aggressively gave up your practice."

"I have clinic hours." House looked up from his game to see Wilson making his sandwich in a rather angry manner. Normally he would have laughed, but he decided to hold it back. "And now you're passively-aggressively spreading peanut butter with a big sign around your neck saying, "Wilson doesn't have enough cash for the cafeteria"."

"And who do I have to thank for that?" House winced, a nerve being struck by the comment. _Sure blame me- it's my fault. Blame me like everyone else does. _"You know," Wilson continued, still spreading the peanut butter over the bread, "before Lenny Bruce died of a drug overdose…"

"Oi…" House exclaimed, "If you're going to confront me about anyone that has abused narcotics, I'm going to have to get something to read." He still kept playing his video game, however.

"… he was arrested on obscenity charges. He went through a series of arrests and trials, because he just couldn't stop challenging the police-"

"You think I _want _Tritter to keep this up? He attacked me, Wilson. I'm not going to apologize when I didn't do anything wrong."

Wilson tossed his hands up in the air in defeat, the knife falling on the counter in front of him with a loud clang. "You're so goddamn stubborn, House. Why do you think he attacked you? You provoked him into doing it- stop trying to make yourself the victim-"

Wilson flinched when House slammed the bottom of his cane against the floor with a loud thud. He couldn't believe it; Wilson was believing Tritter attacked him, but he was thinking that it was House's fault. Anger and fear swept through him like a wave, the hope of Wilson being his only help fading away very quickly. "Fuck you, Jimmy," House cursed, getting up from the couch. As he limped out of the room, the anger and frustration turned into regret and guilt. _I keep pushing him further and further away. But he thinks I'm trying to be the victim. I __**am**__ the victim. It's not my fault… It's not-_ House's thoughts trailed off when he saw Chase coming toward him with news about the patient. For now, his feelings would have to wait- again.

------

For the whole day, Cuddy made sure House was taking the 'proper' amount of pills so he was functional and not in pain. However there was one problem: he _was_ in pain. Cuddy didn't seem to care; she wasn't going to freely give the pills to House; he would just continue his old habits and get himself into more trouble. Yes she was aware he was still in pain, but even when he asked for more, she still said no. Pain was the only thing he could think about as he paced back and forth in the hospital room while his team threw out ideas about what could be wrong with this little girl. _Too sore… can't think straight. Damn it, I __**need**__ my pills._ House thought bitterly as he paced slowly back and forth. House still had his morphine back at home, but he was saving that for when the pain got worse. But oh how it tempted him so… He did his best to try and listen to what he could, but House was a wreck.

"House, can you focus on the case?" Cuddy asked.

"NO! Because I'm in _pain_! I need more pills!" _Damn cop… what the hell does he want from me? He's taken everything from me; he used my body, he's slowly taking away my dignity- whatever's left of it- he's making my employees start to turn against me, and he took Jimmy away… fuck, I need you so bad right now…_ Suddenly, the team's voices fell silent. House paused in his pacing and looked up at them all. His tone suddenly became angry as he cried, "I need more pills!"

"No," Cuddy retorted again, "you're on a reasonable-"

"What does 'reasonable' mean?" The snappy question was nothing but bitter and they all looked at him with either frustration or surprise. Never had House sounded so upset before; something was really getting to him- and it wasn't just the pain. No one had the courage to ask what was wrong, or the time. The girl's heart monitor was beeping faster now, reacting to House's yelling and becoming more stressed.

"Keep it quiet," Cuddy said in a quiet, yet straining voice, "her BP reacts to stress and yelling is not-" she was cut off as House turned toward the window, where the patient's annoying parents were looking in. He closed the blinds to them, a plan that killed two birds with one stone: it made the parents leave them alone and it made Cuddy shut up. "If you think I'm not in pain, then don't give me anything," House spoke more calmly, but with much more bitterness. "Keep me away from the aspirin, but if I'm in a butt-load of pain, I need a butt-load of pills."

"Fine. You need more pills. You're not getting them. You can have _all_ the aspirin you want…" her voice trailed off when she noticed the look on House's face. She gave him an idea- the expression wasn't a hard one to read. Once again, House turned his back to them and opened the blinds so he could walk out of the room and speak with the parents about who gave the girl an aspirin. It could be the thing affecting her, but neither one owned up to their mistake- until mention of a babysitter came up. While the mother called her, Cuddy walked out to see what House had found out. He told Cuddy to put 'her kid'- since taking the parents to a judge twice had earned Cuddy the temporary medical custody of the patient- on charcoal hemoperfusion and gestured for Cuddy to give him his pills. Again he only received two of them, which upset him more. However, House kept his mouth shut and took the two pills, even though he knew they wouldn't help.

After the outburst in the hospital room, Cameron had become more worried for House- and angry at Tritter. She had seen the cop slip into one of the meeting rooms, so she started to head there. _He did something to House; he wasn't like this before Tritter showed up, _she thought, _This is way more than just the limited Vicodin; something happened to House- and I'm going to find out what._ Cameron glanced around the hall before opening the door and saying, "You're going to break out the rubber hoses, the bright lights? I'm not going to testify just because I have to borrow lunch money."

Tritter looked up at her from reading a file, almost surprised to see her there. He kept chewing on the nicotine gum, staying silent for a moment as he watched her. "I know," he replied, closing the file, "Women don't give up guys that they're in love with."

The woman's brow furrowed. "I'm _not_ in love with House."

He sat down in one of the seats at the table. "The guy is unhinged and unethical, does what he wants with no concern for others, but you stand by him."

_You don't know him- stop talking about him like you do._ "It can't just be loyalty and respect?" Because those were the true reasons why she was defending House- helping to protect him from the man sitting before her in that small room.

"No."

"I'm a girl, so I must be in love with him." Sarcasm ran through her voice, even showing in her gaze. It was true at one point she did like him, but she moved on; to her, House was a boss and a friend- nothing more and nothing less. Regardless of what he was going through at the moment. Tritter shook his head. "Not because you're a girl. Because ten years ago you got an A in calculus, until you ratted yourself out. Showed your professor a mistake he missed. Because you married a man…"

"Don't go there," she snapped, but her gaze and stance stayed strong. She wasn't going to falter from that blow. _Was this how he was getting to House?_ she thought, slowly starting to put some pieces together, _What happened to House in the past…?_ "You used to be someone who did the right thing," the cop continued, acknowledging her comment and avoiding the subject of her deceased husband. "House has changed you. Do you think it's all been for the better?"

For a moment, she was silent. House did change her, but was it really for the better? _Tritter's trying to turn me against House; that's not going to happen. _"I'm getting the feeling you aren't such an angel yourself."

The cop softly scoffed and nodded his head, chewing on his gum. "Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to get what you want." The doctor looked at Tritter with a death glare. That just confirmed he had done something to House- something that was bothering him greatly. But he wasn't going to tell her; of course he wouldn't. With a faint snort, Cameron reluctantly left the room, shutting the door behind her. She had two options: either talk to House, or talk to Wilson. _House wouldn't tell me anything. And Wilson's mad at him enough as it is…_ Cameron sighed. Maybe it would be easier to talk to House; she knew him better than Wilson.

While she was talking to Tritter, House had decided to let Foreman and Cuddy operate on the girl since she was suffering from getting her illness even more. "Every time we touch this kid, something goes wrong," she muttered, crossing her arms as she stood by House and watched the operation. She shifted her gaze toward her boss and saw him playing with a small pill in his hand- his secret stash. "You really have to flash your private stash in front of me?"

Brow narrowed, House turned to look at her, his expression close to disbelief. But it was immediately covered by anger. "You find it easier to lie for me if it's more subtle? Fine." He averted his gaze and stuffed the pill in his pocket. She kept her arms crossed, frowning as she almost glared at House. "Look, I don't know what happened between you and Tritter, but whatever happened, it's effecting you-"

"You think? He took away my Vicodin- my last shred of dignity that I have left. He-" House cut himself off, biting his tongue to avoid confessing what happened the night Tritter 'arrested' him. But Cameron wanted to hear more. _His last shred of dignity? What's that supposed to mean…? _"House," she started in a more quiet voice, "what happened?"

_I can't tell her; she wouldn't believe me_, House convinced himself. _She would just think I made it all up- just like Jimmy.._. "Nothing; he arrested me. He punished me because I was a _bad boy_ and now he's trying to break me." _Which is working because now I'm not thinking before I'm speaking. I don't want to talk to you, Cameron; you wouldn't understand._

She was confused. It showed in her gaze, but House wasn't looking at her. "A 'bad boy'? House, what are you talk-"

"I don't want to talk about it." He cringed though at the tremble in his voice. Cameron caught onto it and her brow slowly narrowed. More pieces of the puzzle were connecting in her mind, taking what Tritter had said and all that had happened in the last couple of days in her mind. But nothing was clicking; she needed more information before she could figure out what the hell was going on with House.

------

"I didn't talk to Tritter, I swear-" Chase started while Foreman and Cameron walked away from House on the second floor of the lobby. He had been caught talking to Tritter during the operation, which made it seem like to people on the outside that they two were having a good conversation; that they were working together. And then after that, all three of their accounts were released. He set Chase up- set him in place against House.

"Don't care," House muttered, playing with his laser pointer and pointing it at random people in the lobby. "Either you screwed me and you want absolution, or you didn't and you want applause. Either way I'm not interested."

Chase just looked at House before letting out an irritated sigh. "He said he reopened the bank accounts to make it seem like I snitched so you could fire me."

"Relax, I'm not going to fire you. It's going to take more than that to get me to crumble." _Even though he nearly did when he took me to that motel…_ "So stop acting like a scared puppy and suck it up." It wasn't hard to see that Chase was scared of losing his job. But House wasn't going to put that much stress on them; no matter what, he needed them.

Chase scoffed lightly and shook is head. "Practice what you preach," he muttered, slipping his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. Again, House turned his gaze to the younger doctor. "What?"

"You're scared, too. You can't even listen to anyone talk about the guy without trying to change the subject. He scares you because he has power over you." There was a look of triumph in the younger doctor's gaze because he knew he was right. House hated that look; it reminded him of the damned cop after everything in the motel was done… it made him sick.

"Shut up." House pushed off from the railing and moved toward the elevator. But the sudden grip to his arm made House rigid and tightly grip his cane. For some reason, it reminded him of Tritter's grip on his wrists that night and House couldn't hide the tremble of his body before he glared at the younger man. "Don't. Touch. Me." his tone was dangerous, definitely a threat.

The triumphant gaze immediately turned to concern and Chase let go of House. They stood facing each other, no words exchanged at all. If he hadn't made himself realize it was just Chase, House definitely would have smacked the guy in the face with his cane. "Touch me like that again," he said, raising his cane a bit, "and _you'll_ be walking with a limp, too. Got it?"

Chase wasn't scared of House, but he knew his boss was telling the truth. But he was more concerned about House's reaction. _He got very shaken up… House __**never **__gets shaken up. What the hell did Tritter do…? _He nodded before speaking. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Shut up and go help Cameron and Foreman." Whatever else Chase wanted to say, House didn't want to hear. Shaking his head, Chase walked away and did as he was told. The crippled doctor turned back toward the railing and pointed his laser pointer again. But he paused when he landed on Wilson. _Wilson, I'm sorry, _he thought, guiding the pointer to follow Wilson as he walked toward the pharmacy. _So sorry; I really want to talk to you. Please, just hear me out. I'm __**sorry.**_

But Wilson didn't even look back once.

------

_Damn it, I need my pills… _House thought as he stood in his office, leaning against a bookshelf as support. The team was in the room with him to talk about the little girl. The treatment wasn't working. The infection had morphed and they had run out of time and options. And since House was also not necessarily in the proper state of mind to be thinking about the patient, he suggested amputation of both the girl's arm and leg to stop the infection from spreading. Everyone else was outraged; they couldn't cut the girl's arm and leg off- not a little six year old. But House wasn't taking in the sympathy at all. Instead, he just got more and more upset until once again, he snapped. But it wasn't just about the case; it was about something more personal.

"RIGHT!" They all jumped but House continued to yell, "She's six! She's cute! She can't have flesh-eating bacteria! It's just **wrong**! Let's cure her with sunshine and puppies. Cute kids die of terrible illnesses, innocent doctors go to jail, and it's because cowards like _**you**_ won't stand up and do what's required. You can sit around and moan about who's the bigger weakling. I'm going to go do my job."

After talking to the girl's parents, House had to go somewhere private. Even when he was talking to them, it was hard for him to contain the emotions that were ready to spill over. He limped off to Wilson's office which fortunately was empty and unlocked. But once he walked in, he shut and locked the door and closed the blinds. He moved over to the couch and sat in it. He tossed his cane to the floor and rested his head in his hands. A few deep breaths were taken and then he felt the tears hit his hands. _Why me? __**WHY ME**__?! _Never before had he felt so alone- so scared. House trembled and slowly slid his hands from his face, wiping the tears that had fallen. He was in pain, he was in fear, and he was completely and utterly alone in this. Wilson was gone, Cuddy didn't care, and his team was probably pissed off at him. There was no one he could turn to.

House was going to jail.

------

"I've never seen him like that before," Chase said, picking up House's laser pointer. Cameron's brow furrowed lightly, listening carefully to the story. _He reacted like that just to a grip on his arm? Why? There has to be more than what I'm being given here…_ Foreman crossed his arms on the tabletop. "He's pissed because people are saying no to him. He's yelled at us before."

"Because our theories were dumb," Cameron finally said, "not because our theories were sending him to jail."

"He's going through withdrawal. Could be causing mild paranoia. It'll pass. We just have to suffer through it."

"But does _he_ really have to?" The two men looked at Cameron, confused. She knew there was more to the story than just the withdrawal symptoms. She just needed to find Wilson and figure out what. Before anymore could be said, the subject was switched back to the case on the girl. When Chase started to point the laser pointer at Foreman however, everything started to click. Slowly, his eyes widened and he dropped the laser pointer. _I have to find House._

Quickly, he got up and bolted out of his boss' office, heading down the stairs. House was already on his way out of the hospital, looking worse than he did before. But that wasn't Chase's concern at the moment; he had to stop the surgery before the girl was crippled for the rest of her life. "House!" he called. The crippled doctor merely glanced over his shoulder but still kept walking. "You got to stop the surgery." That was what got him to stop. "She doesn't have necrotizing fasciitis."

"Oh good," he replied, obviously not seeming to care. He leaned to the side to keep going, but Chase grabbed his arm, turning himself to move in front of House. "Let go." _I just want to go home. Let me go home…_

"She's got erythropoietin protoporphyria. She's allergic to light. It's genetic. Either parent could have carried it." House rolled his eyes and looked at Chase as if he was stupid, which House didn't doubt sometimes. "I know what it is," he replied, irritated. "Infection fits better." He moved to walk around Chase, but the younger man was faster, placing a hand on House's shoulder tightly to keep him there. The hold on his cane tightened.

"What did I tell you about touching me?" House said angrily. But Chase was ignoring him. "She gets worse every time she goes under the surgical lights, dad takes her outside…" Quickly, House shrugged Chase's hand off of his shoulder. "Her liver's shot, too. Did she swallow a flashlight?"

"Stop the surgery."

"Get the hell out of my way." Once more, he tried to move around Chase. But he was pushed back. Before he knew it, House's fist came up and smacked Chase's chin hard, sending him falling to the floor. His eyes widened, realizing what he had just done. _Shit…_ he thought, watching as Chase started to sit up slowly. "Light damages the blood cells," the younger doctor continued, "the damaged blood cells contain protoporphyrin, the protoporphyrin builds up in the liver." _You should know that, House… _"That's why the liver's shutting down."

_I should have known this…_ he thought, staring back down at Chase as the younger doctor held his jaw again. Right before they cut into the girl's arm, the surgery was called off and they gave the girl the proper treatment.

Even after that, Chase was pissed off at House. He solved a case and what did he get for it? A punch to the face. Before then he started to feel concerned for his boss, but now he lost all care for the guy. He walked into the break room, keeping his head down to hide the bruise since Wilson was also in there. The older doctor watched as he tried to scrape whatever peanut butter was left in the jar for his sandwich. _What did House do __**now**__._

"So what's new?" he asked in a rather cheerful tone. There was a pause before Chase mumbled, "House missed one."

That didn't surprise Wilson at all; it had happened before. And he even told the other man that. "He nearly maimed a little girl." But that did. He looked up at Chase with concern. "And I got it right," Chase added, looking off to the side. "And I told him and it didn't matter."

Wilson rolled his eyes a bit and looked down at his sandwich for a moment. _House isn't one to give out rewards for that kind of thing; if anyone should know that it should be Chase._ "Chase, you solved one. You helped a patient, that better be enough for you. They were going to call his play _Waiting for House's Approval_, but it would have been too grim."

"Trust me," Chase started, looking up at Wilson to reveal the bruise on the left side of his chin, "I'm not waiting anymore." His brow furrowed as he watched the younger doctor walk out of the room. _House, what the hell is going on with you?_ He thought. Obviously something was bothering his former friend and keeping it inside wasn't helping anyone. Wilson had to fix this before he hurt anyone else- or himself.

So later that night, he walked through the halls of the hospital, each step becoming heavier. _Whatever's going on in your head isn't anything good, House_, he thought as he kept walking, _I'm trying to help you…_ But no matter how good he tried to make it sound, Wilson still felt horrible about it. He opened a door and walked into the room. Tritter sat at a desk, looking over more files. However, he wasn't surprised Wilson was the one that showed up.

"I'm going to need… thirty pieces of silver," Wilson said guiltily. _I'm so sorry, House…_


	6. No Way Back

**Chapter 6: No Way Back**

House headed back into his office the next day. Right when he walked into the hospital he knew something was wrong. His limping pace slowed slightly but he still made it to his office. Wilson stood by his desk with a defeated look in his eyes. Before he could ask what happened, he felt another pair of eyes on him and he looked back toward his chair to find Tritter sitting there. Fear hit him fast and hard but he didn't let it show- not to Wilson. "Merry Christmas," Tritter said, of course not meaning it at all.

"And a happy go to hell," House snapped back. His gaze shifted back toward Wilson. "What's he doing here? Is he with you?" he asked, limping so he was closer to Wilson. Even though they were mad at each other, House still felt a lot safer around Wilson. He was what was keeping him calm even though Tritter was still eyeing him. But Wilson moved away from him, walking more toward the center of the room to get out of cane's reach of House. "Tritter and I… we worked out a deal," Wilson replied.

_What? _House movements slowed a bit as he took off his coat. "I already got a lawyer," he said to Wilson, then looked at Tritter, "Get out of my office."

"I told him I didn't write those prescriptions." Fear was no longer hidden in his eyes as he stared at Wilson now. _Jimmy no… Not you- how could you?_ "I spoke with the DA," Tritter started. Just hearing his voice made House sick. "He agreed to two months in a rehab facility in exchange for a guilty plea."

The first part of the bastard's reply was a glare from House. _I don't need rehab, I need __**you**__ out of my life. _"Get out of my office," he repeated. Wilson blinked, looking surprised that House turned it down. But really, he shouldn't have been. "No jail time."

"Right. So I should get locked up in some place I don't belong in order to avoid getting locked up in some _other place I don't belong_. Yeah, makes a whole lot of sense, Wilson." The oncologist just threw his hands up again. _Come on House, __**no jail time**_. _Take the deal._

That time, however, Tritter spoke up. "I got you on forgery, fraud, enough drugs to…"

"No sanctions to the medical board." Wilson added, looking directly at his former friend. But House didn't seem to give a crap. "Mmm, and you get your car back and your bank accounts and your precious tumor-ridden patients." _Because obviously they matter more to you than I do._

"I did this to help you."

"Oh cut the bullshit, Wilson. This is only making things worse. Next Christmas, buy me a sweater."

"You punched out an employee. You nearly cut a little girl in half because you were too strung out to-"

"I was in pain! If you'd open your damn eyes, you would see why!" His arm stretched out and gestured toward Tritter. _HINT, HINT._ But Wilson just figured it was all just about the attack again and House knew that just by looking at him. "You need to believe I've got a problem so that your betrayal has the illusion of nobility. But you just selfishly…"

"Knock it off," Tritter interrupted finally, moving to stand up from his seat. "Look, I don't care why Dr. Wilson is doing this. All right now, it makes no difference to you, either, 'cause you need to deal with the reality of your current situation." House's gaze averted from Tritter's again, looking annoyed yet ashamed. He had that look again- the look of his father. And House shifted uncomfortably where he stood. Wilson noticed, but said nothing. Tritter continued speaking. "You want to stand on principle, you end up in a cell. And you end up never practicing medicine again."

_Right and I'll become your little toy you can play with whenever you want._ The thought sounded sarcastic in his mind, but it scared House right down to his core. "So you got two choices," Tritter offered, looking House up and down again while Wilson was looking down, "your principles or your life."

_Stop trying to act like the good guy here. You RAPED me. YOU should be the one going to jail and worrying about all of this. NOT ME. _"Get the fuck out of my office." Wilson lowered his gaze while Tritter shook his head in false disappointment. But there was a look of amusement in his icy blue hues. While he reached for his coat, the detective added, "The DA put a clock on the deal. You got three days to decide."

Finally, Wilson looked at Tritter and noticed that amused look in his eyes. As if House knew the answer why, he looked back at him- only to see fear in his gaze. _Something's definitely wrong… damn it, what have I done_. "House…" his voice trailed off, though, when he realized that the crippled doctor was already limping down the hall. "House! Just give me a minute. You're afraid of the pain."

Suddenly, House whipped around and raised his cane at Wilson. "And you're not?" But they both knew he wouldn't do it. He could never bring himself to do it. Even though he did want to knock some sense into his head. "You can still have pain meds in rehab," he attempted to reassure House. "Tramadol, gabapentin."

"Those don't work."

"They will once you're weaned off the Vicodin."

_You make it sound like it's so easy. Try living with a gimp leg, getting raped and molested, going through withdrawal, and get betrayed by the one person you thought you could trust, then we'll talk. _With his cane, House pointed toward a Nativity set outside of the clinic. "Look, there's Jesus. Better go tell the Romans." It hinted toward his thoughts, but Wilson just sighed and averted his gaze. He pushed the clinic door with his back, slipping inside to leave Wilson in the lobby.

"Fine, run to Cuddy. You don't think she's going to support me on this?" He didn't expect an answer. Shaking his head, Wilson turned around and started to walk away. _I screwed this up so bad… but I had no choice; I need to help House fix this before it gets even worse. _So once House was out of the clinic, Wilson moved in to go talk to Cuddy about a plan for House to take the deal. At first, Cuddy was completely against it. "He's a child, he's too stubborn," she had reasoned with Wilson, "he's not going to take the deal."

"When a child misbehaves, what do you do? You take away something he loves." _Wish his dad had known that…_ his thoughts trailed off for a moment, his brow narrowing lightly. A thought crossed his mind that he never realized before. Tritter was punishing him like a father did to a child; he was trying to take away everything that House had to get him to behave- or at least do as the cop wanted him to. _Maybe that's why House is scared; Tritter reminds him of his father…_

"We can't take away his Vicodin," Cuddy said, "Not only will he be in pain, he'll start to detox."

Dismissing the thought for the next time he talked to House, Wilson shook his head, "And we tell him the only way to get the pills back is to take the deal. He needs to do this- not just for the sake of the hospital, but for the people around him."

"He won't be able to function."

"That's the point."

"You going to explain that to his patient?" _Damn…__but House has to do this; I don't want him in jail and I know he doesn't want to be either. Tritter scares him, so the only way to get out of it is to go to rehab…_ "What choice do we have?" he spoke out his finishing though to Cuddy, who finally caved and approved the plan. Now he just had to find House. Either he was with the patients or he was in his office.

------

"What are you going to do?" Cameron asked House bluntly. They had been talking about the case- a cartilage-hair hyperplasia dwarf. But somehow the topic flipped to Wilson's betrayal. Blinking House looked at them as if he didn't know what they were talking about. "Well, I thought I'd get your theories, mock them, and embrace my own. The usual."

"Wilson told us he ratted," Foreman explained as if House didn't know. House just scoffed and lowered his gaze to the table. It sounded less horrible when said that way. But it still hurt all the same. "Your choice of verb, I take it?"

"It's appropriate. He betrayed you. And you should take the deal."

_Fuck you, Foreman._ House's expression didn't change at all, however his tone of voice did rise. "Unexplained lung collapse and anemia. Cuddy thinks it's idiopathic." Of course he was referring to the case. He didn't want to talk about the damn deal anymore; House wasn't going to do it. They resumed the conversation about the case and he and Cameron went to go talk to the family about a gallium scan for infections. Cameron was glad to see House was somewhat acting normal again so when he picked on her back in his office, she just smiled in reply. But House's normal personality soon wasn't missed when he kept insulting the patient's mother; the two going back and forth while all Cameron and the patient could do was listen. But really, it was making House feel better. It helped him forget about the deal for a little while, dulled the pain of Wilson betraying him. He wasn't going to be forgetting that anytime soon, he knew that for sure. For now, though, he would spend his time poking fun at the dwarf while Cameron did all the real work.

"The gallium scan shows no sign of bright spots," Cameron pointed out. House nodded lightly in agreement, holding the handle of his cane under his chin in thought. The whole team was convinced the girl had lung cancer, but House was trying to convince them it was the liver because the lighting on the scan was darker there.

"You just don't want it to be cancer because then you would have to deal with Wilson," Foreman said. And he was right, which was why he got another mental 'fuck you' from House. "Avoiding Wilson is an added bonus," the doctor said, trailing off slightly when he saw Cuddy walk in.

"House, we need to talk."

"Not taking the deal. Glad we talked." Then he turned to his team. "Ultrasound her liver." And they all got up- only to have Cuddy yell for them to sit down, which they did slowly and unsurely, exchanging glances with one another. "House you're off the case. Your treatment privileges are suspended until you accept Tritter's deal."

_Really? __**Really**__, Cuddy? _"Obviously I'm not going to take the deal just so I can have the fun of treating a dwarf. So I assume there's more to this threat." He regretted even bringing it up. "I'm also cutting off your Vicodin." _WHY?! Damn it, I'm already in pain as it is. _"That could work."

"I'm taking over," Cuddy looked at House's team. "Get an MRI of her lungs."

"This is not lung cancer."

"We'll find out as soon as we MRI her lungs." She gestured for the three to go do the MRI. House stood there with his shoulders slumped. _I'm not going to cave in. I __**won't**__ take this deal. If I do, Tritter wins. And I'm not going to let him win again. _Before Cuddy turned to leave, House said, "You're going to come begging to me to save this girl long before I come begging you for pills."

"I hope not. For everyone's sake." He knew she didn't want to do it; she didn't want to take all those things away from House. So that meant it wasn't her idea. But he wasn't going to confront Wilson about it. _This isn't going to help me, Wilson- you know that._

------

House was right- the girl's liver was failing. Since House was off the case, however, the team had to talk to Wilson and Cuddy. The whole situation was wrong to Cameron. Just because it could be effective for House to actually accept the deal, it didn't mean that it was right. She still didn't like Tritter, none of them did. And she agreed with House; he shouldn't take the deal.

"Okay, what causes lung collapse and liver failure?" Cuddy asked, moving around her desk to join the group. They each went around and brought up their own illnesses, getting shot down a couple of times until Cameron started to suggest cirrhosis.

"Could be a hepatoma," Wilson interrupted. Cameron looked back at him with a glare. He wasn't the only one that knew House was scared of Tritter, and that was why House wasn't the only one upset with Wilson about it all. "She's fifteen. It's not liver cancer."

His brow furrowed, his dark brown eyes looking at Cameron with confusion in her sudden change of behavior. "It's not unheard of."

"Cirrhosis fits better. The question is what caused it?" It didn't take a genius to find out why Cameron was so against him. It was because they kicked House out of the sandbox and got rid of all of his toys. After discussing what they could do about confirming the cirrhosis idea, Wilson took Cameron off to an exam room to talk. "What exactly is your problem with me?" he just wanted to be sure it wasn't something else.

She just shrugged, keeping her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. "Hepatoma is a weak diagnosis," she replied simply.

_Bull crap. _"So this is all about the case?"

"What else would it be about?"

_House is exactly what this is about…_ Sighing, Wilson explained, "I made this deal to help him."

"And help yourself at the same time."

"This is not about my practice. This is not about my car. I gave both of them up to help House and I would have gone on without them, if he hadn't almost maimed a patient and if he hadn't punched out Chase."

She wasn't convinced. "Was it an easy choice?"

_Don't even try to send me on a guilt trip._ "Of course not. But it's right."

"Then why wasn't it easy?" _Turning him in to Tritter is only going to push him further into a corner. He obviously hates the guy. And Wilson is only making it worse…_

"Because he's my friend. It's obviously complicated…"

Her brow rose at him. "It's complicated? When you decided to talk to Tritter, your life got a million times better. How do you separate that out? How do you pretend your windfall isn't relevant to this decision? If you took the time to actually talk to _House_, **then **maybe I would actually believe you."

Wilson rolled his eyes and averted his gaze. "It was the right thing to do." But even now he was starting to disagree.

"You pretending your motive are pure is why I have a problem. If he really was your friend, you would talk to him about what happened between him and Tritter. I'm not as close to him as you are and I already know that something happened. But he doesn't want to talk to me; I don't see why he would want to talk to you _now_, though." She then moved around Wilson and out of the exam room, leaving Wilson to once again try to put the pieces together. She knew that he knew more about House's past than she ever would; even though she was mad at Wilson, at least she could try to have him redeem himself by talking to House about what happened. Maybe then things would get better…

------

House was getting desperate. He needed his pills; his leg was hurting more than ever before. But at least the pain in his shoulder was fading. _I need my pills- __**now**__. _So what did he do to get them? First he went to Cuddy's office and attempted to break into her desk drawer. He knew there was a reason he had hired Foreman; luckily he came to her office and helped him get into the drawer- for an exchange of a theory on the dwarf's diagnosis. Bu there were no pills in the drawer. _Damn…_

Next step: Go to a different clinic. No one knew him there, so they could check on him and _hopefully_ give him Vicodin. House was faking a hurting face from a car accident. The doctor was suggesting anything but the Vicodin, but House easily made up excuses around them to lead to that option. He _really_ needed them. The doctor hesitated, though, before he suggested it. But he didn't give House the pills; all he did was explain something about a stupid policy. But House wasn't about to give up yet.

"I'm sorry, that's the policy." _Screw the policy! I'm in PAIN- Give me Vicodin! _He then pretty much admitted he was a doctor and walked out of the clinic, more frustrated and angry than he did when he arrived. _That completely backfired… damn Wilson and his idiotic ideas. This isn't helping me- and neither will accepting the deal. I'm going to jail._ He shivered when he walked outside, but it was more than just from the cold air as he limped out into the parking lot.

The next day, House only felt worse. He was in so much pain and he was feeling so sick… he couldn't handle it anymore. Very slowly, he hobbled into the kitchen. Since he didn't have Vicodin and ran out of the morphine, he was running out of options. And the knife that was glinting on the counter was mighty tempting. He needed a release; so much was bottled up inside of him. The withdrawal, the pain, the fact that no one would listen to him about Tritter. He couldn't hold it all in. And before he knew it, all of the stress he had was flowing out of him with the blood that seeped out from the cut he made on his skin. His shoulders slumped and he had to lean against his refrigerator to keep himself up. It was like a high for him; but he knew it wouldn't last. So he tried to make the most of it. Two more cuts were added before he actually took into account what he had done to himself. He had no time to fix it; someone was knocking at his door.

"Unless you have Vicodin, go away," House drowsily called, grabbing a washcloth and wrapping it around his arm. "House, it's Cameron…" the voice said through the door, concern freely coming from it. Slowly, House limped toward the door, stopping once since he felt like he was going to faint. But he made it to the door and opened it. Cameron's eyes widened at seeing him. "Oh God," she mumbled.

Closing his eyes, House leaned his forehead against the door. It felt so cool on his skin; he didn't want to move away. But Cameron's voice brought him out of his trance. "What happened to your arm?" His eyes fluttered open and his gaze lowered to his arm. Blood was already seeping through the washcloth; he really underestimated how deep he cut. "I cut myself."

After she helped him to the couch, Cameron began to clean the blood off of House's arm. She explained that Wilson was wrong about lymphoma. He wondered if Cuddy sent her, but she said no; Cuddy would be afraid Cameron would give him pills which she didn't have. But she paused while she was cleaning the actual wound. "House, these are straight cuts- in a row. You did this on purpose." There was no hiding it now. Cameron's eyes widened with worry for him, but he couldn't look at her. _You wouldn't understand…_ "Cutting releases endorphins, endorphins relieve pain. You going to get me some pills?"

"How can you be thinking about pills?" the cripple rolled his eyes while Cameron continued, "House, you **cut** yourself. And I know it's not just about the pills. Tritter did something to you and if it's making you do this to yourself…" she trailed off, looking down at his arm for a moment before returning her concerned gaze to him. "House, stop this… take the deal."

He shook his head, swallowing a lump in his throat. He was so frustrated and so scared. "I… can't take the deal." Cameron was about to speak, but House interrupted her. "I _can't_ take it… because you're right. Tritter did something to me and I… he just…" House wasn't thinking straight; he didn't know what he was saying or why he was telling Cameron. Even she had that in mind, yet at the same time she knew he was struggling with the truth of the matter; there was a deeper meaning toward all of this and she was _so_ close to figuring it out. "House…"

_You wouldn't understand. Wilson will… I want to talk to __**him**__, not you._ "I'm sorry," he just said, looking at her with a mixture of emotions. Sad, scared, confused- he looked like a lost child. Cameron knew he had to talk to _someone_ and that someone was Wilson- the guy that got him in this situation in the first place. Nothing more was said about the issue as House slowly explained to her about the patient while she finished tending to the cuts. "Just… for the sake of you staying out of jail, take the deal. Tritter won't be able to touch you if you go to rehab," she said.

_And that's why you wouldn't understand. _The words she chose made him fidget in his seat, but Cameron didn't catch that. She kept her gaze on his face, but he wasn't looking at her anymore; he couldn't. He didn't want to talk to her anymore; he told her about the patient- she got what she wanted. _He's not going to do it…_ Cameron thought, sighing lightly with defeat. Slowly, she got up from in front of House and walked out of the apartment. Slowly, House leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes, once again attempting to fall asleep in his miserable state.


	7. You Found Me

**Chapter 7: You Found Me**

Even though House was practically losing his mind from detoxing, Wilson and Cuddy both knew he was _still_ capable of saving lives. What was the difference taking him off the Vicodin? House turned mean and his thought process was blocked by the pain. _We could have lost the patient, _he thought as he started to walk outside. _The hospital needs House; he can't go to jail. He's scared to death of something; jail is scary in general, but… there's something else there that I can't figure out. _

He saw Tritter sitting in his car, waiting for Wilson. The oncologist planned on trying to make some sort of negotiation with the cop to leave House alone. House was in so much pain- and for what? To prove that he didn't need rehab? To prove that Tritter wasn't going to win? Those were both wrong; Wilson had just caught House trying to steal pills from a _dead man_! And now he went off doing who knew what. But even then…

_I have to protect House, _Wilson thought as he sat in Tritter's parked car. _I can't let House go to jail. I only have one shot._ "I won't testify," he said rather bluntly to Tritter. He didn't look over but he knew the cop was giving him a surprised look. _Why are you so surprised? You actually thought I would betray House like- well, I already did betray him, but I can't do it again… I won't. He's my friend and I… I just can't hurt him again. _"Drug addicts hurt the people around them with their habit-"

"House has hurt plenty of people, you included," Tritter brought up. Wilson kept his gaze forward and shook his head lightly. _He's not hurting me- or I'd like to hope not._ He looked toward the detective again. "He saves lives. People that no one else can save. And no matter how much of an ass he is, statistically, House is still a positive force in the universe." He struggled with saying the last part, but he spoke up anyway, "Pills let him do that."

Tritter shook his head. "Vicodin doesn't make House a genius. Whatever he does on pills, he can do without. He is just not willing to try."

_You don't know him; I'm his friend- I know him better than you ever will._ "I won't testify against him."

"Then we'll subpoena you."

"What?" his head darted back to look at the cop. _You're joking…_ But Tritter continued to speak before Wilson could interrupt, "your previous statement will be read into evidence and you'll be charged with interfering with an investigation. And you will go to jail." _This is ridiculous. _His thoughts even showed as Wilson shook his head. "Again, statistically, better me than him." _I have to protect him from Tritter; House is scared of him. But why?_

"Statistically, the two of you will be in jail," the cop shot back. Wilson blinked and turned his gaze away from him. Honestly, he didn't want to go to jail- who really did? _House is too stubborn to change his mind,_ he thought as he moved to get out of the car. He was done talking to the cop; it would have been a lot better if Wilson never had to see the guy again. But he knew that wasn't going to happen.

------

"I'm picking up some pills under the name 'Zebalusky'," House said, leaning against the counter. The pharmacist nodded absent-mindedly and walked over toward the shelf. House beat his fist lightly, but impatiently on the counter as he looked back over his shoulder. He had just seen Wilson leave the hospital for some reason and figured he would try stealing the pills again while he was away. The pharmacist grabbed the bag. However he had started to read the information and his walking pace back toward House slowed. _Come on, just get over here and give me the pills._ "This is Dr. Wilson's patient," the moron said, looking up at House.

_Yeah? No shit._ House leaned on his elbows as he stood by the counter. "Yeah, Wilson's busy right now," he started but then began to turn bitter, "What with Mr. Zebalusky dying in agony on account of his metastatic lung cancer and _not having the pills to relieve that agony_ because of some **moron **pharmacist."

But the moron was still hesitant. _I'm in pain- give me the pills._ "Sign the book," he said finally. Irritated and in pain, House signed it and the guy handed over the pills. Almost too quickly, House limped off toward the stairs and reclined himself on them so he was somewhere private. When no one was around, he opened the bag, took the bottle and opened it. _Hello sweet release_, he thought as he popped a few pills in his mouth. They already seemed to start taking effect, releasing House of his pain and he sighed, slowly leaning back against the wall as he welcomed the feeling with open arms. It was the happiest he felt in a _very _long time.

After he started feeling twenty times better- and very hungry- House went to the pediatric care center of the hospital so he could eat in peace. Having four hot dogs and a plate full of fries, he was pretty satisfied with what he was about to eat. But before he could even get started, two things had stopped him: a girl with spinal muscular atrophy that wanted a french fry, and Cuddy. He slid the plate over to the girl, ignoring Cuddy by starting an argument with the girl about her stuffed bear. But the kid was convinced that it was a dog. Cuddy kept trying to bribe House to take the case again- even waving a bottle of Vicodin in his face. But the argument with the kid was way more entertaining. _I don't need the Vicodin,_ he thought.

"Are you on something?" Cuddy asked in disbelief at his reaction- or lack there of- to the Vicodin. House merely turned to her and lifted his brow. The dean of medicine crossed her arms, the look on her face becoming an irritated one. "You got your hands on pain meds."

"Bill has fur, four legs, and a collar- he's a dog," the girl argued.

"See, that's what we call a faulty syllogism," he continued, "Just because you call Bill a dog, doesn't mean that he is…" He held out the last word and something clicked in his mind. He knew what was wrong with the patient. "… a dog," he finished before looking at Cuddy, "We got to x-ray our patient's leg." They both went up to his office and met with Wilson, where they discussed the patient's disease and treatment for it. But while they talked, House took one of the pills that he had stolen, which immediately caught Wilson's attention. His gaze shifted toward Cuddy, who denied giving them to him.

Before House left to talk to the dwarf family, Wilson cut him off. "How did you get those?" he asked, referring to the pills. House slipped his hand in his pocket and turned himself so he was blocking the pills with his body. "They're mine, get your own."

The younger doctor shook his head. "You're supposed to be detoxing."

"It's not Vicodin…" he tried to stop himself, but it was too late. _Oh crap._ The answer came to Wilson right away and he crossed his arms, squinting his eyes a bit as he glared at House. "Your name doesn't happen to be 'Zebalusky' by any chance?" House rolled his eyes and swerved around Wilson to get to the elevator. Angry, Wilson gripped the sides of his hair and then stormed after House. If he wasn't going to go to jail before, he definitely was now. "What the _hell_ are you thinking?! Did you **ever** take into consideration that Tritter still hangs around and looks at everyone's files- _even_ the pharmacy logs?!"

"He can't do anything to me," House smugly stated, pushing the button for the elevator with his cane. Then he added, voicing his thoughts out loud. "I'm not going to let him win."

"Win what, House? This isn't a game- you could _go to jail_!"

He turned toward Wilson. "I know I heard it a thousand times before. And that would only prove that he is doing this just to break me." _Again._

Wilson's brow narrowed, obviously not understanding what House was saying to him. _Break you?_ "What are you talking about?" With a soft ding, the elevator doors opened and House stepped inside. The pills were having a very different effect on him than the Vicodin. But it didn't matter to him at the time; even though he wasn't thinking before he spoke, at least the pain went away. However even then he found it hard to let anything out. _Just say it- come on, just tell him..._

"House, what did Tritter do?" Wilson asked. "Cameron told me you said he did something to you. If you tell me, I can help you." _Please, for the love of-_

He scoffed, but his mind finally let that barrier down- somewhat. "It's too late; Tritter already got his hands on me."

Before Wilson could say anymore, the doors closed. Something about the way House said it… everything rushed back in his mind and it _finally _clicked. Slowly, Wilson's eyes widened and his shoulders slumped. He felt like _such_ an idiot. How didn't he see it before? _And I told Tritter… Oh my God. I'm such an idiot!_ It all made sense; House's behavior, his aches and pains- Tritter had... And here Wilson thought he was lying about it. But he couldn't talk to House now; he was in the middle of helping a patient. It wouldn't have been good to go down there and mention anything; House was probably upset with him, anyway. _Still, _Wilson thought as he headed toward his office, _I have to try talk to House- and soon._

------

The patient was given the treatments needed for her illness and her height since she really wasn't a dwarf. House had solved the case even while going through detox. _I didn't need rehab for that, _he thought smugly as he limped to his office. However when he looked through the glass, he saw Tritter's silhouette inside, sitting at his desk. Every part of House's body tensed up, but he still slipped into the office. Tritter looked up at him with a smirk.

"What now?" House asked. _Haven't you done enough already?_

"It's the third day," Tritter said, leaning back in his seat, "and I take it you're still not going to take the deal?" His mind was more in focus at that point; everything Wilson had said to him earlier was true; House had to make a decision- and soon. He swallowed hard, his hands trying their hardest not to shake. "I'm taking the deal," he said- apparently to Tritter's surprise.

But then he did something House didn't expect: the bastard started laughing. "The deal's off the table, House," he said, "We got new evidence. We don't need Wilson anymore." _What are you talking…?_ "The thing about addicts," Tritter continued, interrupting House's thoughts as he kept looking the doctor over, "is no matter how smart they are they're dumb when it comes to drugs."

"Mind getting to the point?" House asked, feeling uncomfortable. He didn't like where this was going; even though they were just standing there. But any situation where House was alone with Tritter never felt or sounded right- and for good reason. The idiot just smirked again. "So I've been keeping an eye on the pharmacy log," he continued. House swayed to the side in defeat; Tritter knew about the pills he stole. The doctor lowered his gaze. "Seems some patient of Wilson's named Zebalusky managed to pick up his Oxy prescription after he died."

The last few words were spoken in a laugh. House did his best to hold back a tremble as Tritter stood from his seat. "Jesus walks, huh," he muttered, already standing right next to House. He felt a hand caress the side of his face again.

"You won't be able to get to me in rehab," he said, unable to hide the tremble in his voice. His heart was pounding in his chest again and he felt sick. The hand on his face slid down his neck and then over his side. "No matter what happens now," Tritter muttered while sliding his hand over the cripple's body, "you're still going to end up in jail… as my toy." _No, no… you can't. Not again. _House trembled under Tritter's touch, feeling the cop's hand wander down past his hip. He couldn't go through with it again; he was about to break. _Jimmy- someone. __**Please**__ help._ House was too scared to move; he thought he had gotten away from Tritter for good. But there he was with his hands all over and he couldn't do anything about it.

"What the hell's going on?" a voice said from behind them. Immediately, Tritter's hands pulled back from House, who also looked back. Wilson was standing in the doorway. He didn't need to be told what happened; he already saw everything. Brown hues glared at Tritter, who didn't seem worried about the whole thing at all. He still had power over them; who would believe them if they said Tritter had raped House? "Get the _fuck_ out of here," Wilson said in a dangerous tone, "or I'll have another reason to go to jail."

Not saying a word, Tritter walked past Wilson, who just glared as the scum bag walked off. Once he was gone, he turned back to House, his expression changing entirely- from stern and angry to calm and deeply concerned. House looked _terrified_- like a lost child. His eyes were full of fear and his hands were trembling, even making his cane shake. _I can't believe it got this far…_ "House…" he started, walking over to the scared man. But he stopped himself; he didn't want to scare his friend even more. So he decided to keep his distance and let House have control of what was said or done.

"Jimmy…" his voice was weak. He wanted to say more, but what really could be said? Wilson looked sadly at House before he finally went over to place a comforting hand on his back. The scared doctor didn't flinch away or tense up; instead he moved and leaned against Wilson in an attempt at a hug. Feeling him tremble against his body just made Wilson feel horrible. _I put him through all this… after what that bastard did to him._ He moved his arms up to wrap around House comfortingly. Even though he was angry at Tritter, he couldn't let that show; his friend needed him now.

"Jimmy," House tried again in a trembling voice, "thank you."

There was so much gratitude and relief in House's voice. Even Wilson found it hard to keep it together. But somehow he stayed strong and patted House's back gently before trying to move away. But the taller man kept holding him close, his grip tightening at the feel of Wilson trying to move. "I'm not going anywhere, House," he assured him, "I'm not-"

"Don't let go."

Wilson almost cringed at the sound of House's voice. It sounded so weak compared to how he normally sounded. Whatever Tritter did really had a huge impact on his friend. _I'm going to kill him. _House winced when he felt his friend tense up as well. Apparently Wilson's anger was coming through and that was even effecting House. "Hey, it's okay," he said soothingly, calming himself down before House got even more upset.

"I know…" he said quietly, "you're here now."

He didn't know what made him stay so damn strong. He felt so horrible for what happened- for letting Tritter take advantage of House like that. And then to push him away when he needed help the most… _Why would he still want my help?_ "Y-Yeah, I'm here now… just a little late."

"Better than not finding me at all."

That was very true. Wilson kept holding House, showing no sign of letting him go anytime soon. He wanted to protect House as much as possible; having him in his arms assured him that his friend really was safe. However if anyone saw them, they would definitely find the situation rather awkward; House, the cranky sarcastic cripple, _hugging_ Wilson? It wasn't weird for either of them, but to anyone else- they wouldn't understand. _That explains it_, Wilson answered his own question. "House," he said quietly, "we should move; someone might see us." _And you've had your pride hurt enough as it is._

It seemed that House agreed; his hold on Wilson loosened and finally the younger doctor pulled back to look at him. There was a blank and lost look in his light blue eyes that made a bubbling hate for Tritter rise in Wilson. Luckily, he knew to keep himself in check as he slid his hands up and Down House's arms comfortingly. "Let me know where you want to go."

"Home," he replied still in that quiet voice. Wilson hated it; it made him come to the realization that maybe the House that everyone had known was long gone; that he was never going to be his old self again. _No I won't believe that; that would only mean that Tritter would win…_ "All right, come on."

And to Wilson's relief, House scoffed, "Wilson, I'm not _five._ I can walk without you holding my hand every step of the way." But even as he spoke, his voice trembled. It was good, though; House hadn't changed too much. _He still needs to be himself if he wants Tritter to leave him alone; if he stays weak, then the son of a bitch will never leave House alone…_ And oh how Wilson hoped that wouldn't happen. The whole walk to Wilson's car was silent, which was fine for him. He didn't want to force House to say anything he didn't want to. He would let him choose when to talk about what and allow him to take his time. When they got into the car, Wilson was just about to start it up.

"He only… hurt me once."

Immediately Wilson stopped and looked at his friend. House's gaze was on the dashboard, with a distant look in those lost eyes. He knew his friend was going back to that day and he allowed him to say whatever he needed to. _There's no rush, House…_ "The night I got arrested," House continued, "he pulled me over and started writing me a ticket. If I had kept my mouth shut…" his voice trailed off, whispering a curse at himself more so than to anyone else. Wilson hated seeing his friend like this, but House needed him, because he understood why House did what he did- well, he understood _now_. "He did a body search…" his voice trembled lightly. _Come on, keep going; he's going to help… he believes you; that's_ _proving Tritter wrong._ "He… put his hands…" House closed his eyes. He couldn't get the words out.

"You don't have to-" Wilson started, trying to reassure him. But House hit the handle of his cane against the dashboard to cut him off. "I have to, Jimmy. I have to do this because if I don't, it'll keep eating at me. Besides," he opened his eyes and looked at Wilson, "you're the only one that understands me. And I trust you." That meant a lot to him, especially coming from House. As soon as it was said, however, House added, "Tell anyone I went soft on you and I'll beat you with my cane."

A chuckle escaped from him at the sudden comment. It was both out of humor and relief. "Your secret's safe with me- you know that." Of course he knew- and he showed that by attempting a small smile. However when the subject returned to what happened, House swallowed hard. "… He did the body search, and… kept putting his hands _all over_. Then, he said that I- I was a bully and I deserved to be punished." As he spoke those words, the voices of both his father and Tritter rang through his mind along with his own. "Then he took me to the motel." Nothing needed to be said more after that; the story finished itself with that last, chilling comment. Wilson only watched him carefully, letting him take his time. But all he got was silence. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is. It was like you said, I taunted him."

_No, forget I ever said that- I wasn't listening… _"You were protecting yourself-"

"I stuck a thermometer up his _rectum_. He got his revenge by…" he didn't need to finish. Wilson let out a soft sigh. His voice didn't sound angry; it was still reassuring and calm. "You honestly don't think you deserved that, do you?" He got no answer; House just sat in his seat, keeping his gaze fixed forward. Then a thought occurred to Wilson and he went with it. "When he first saw you, how did you feel?"

"What are you, my-" House stopped himself. _He's trying to help; let him._ "I was… scared. I knew something was off about him when I saw him." That was the answer Wilson was looking for. The oncologist continued to speak his theory. "So you reacted by being you to get him away as fast as possible."

"And that set him off and he raped me."

The younger doctor winced at the bluntness of the comment. "Let me finish- please." He waited for some sort of remark, but none came. "You didn't set anything off in him. He already picked you because he knew you were intimidated." His brown optics shifted back at House, who just looked astonished. "So…" House began, "he just _picked_ me? Out of the blue? That's kind of hard to believe, Jimmy."

He shook his head. "Not really; that is how most of… those kinds of cases usually happen. Tritter just picked you because he knew you were scared of him." Wilson looked at House again, who just stared right back. The look on his face was one the younger man couldn't read. But he blinked when he saw a smile spread across House's face. The older doctor scoffed and leaned the back of his head against the head rest of the car seat. "So I _was_ right this time- I didn't do anything wrong."

"Of course not' you did what you could to keep yourself safe."

"Jimmy."

His brow rose when he heard his name. "What is it, buddy?" House didn't look back at him as he spoke. "When you made the deal with Tritter… you did it to keep me safe, right?" Wilson's heart sank. It was the truth, but… it seemed even that didn't save House. "Yes, and I'm sor-"

"Don't. You didn't know."

He merely nodded in reply. But he felt he should have; Wilson was at just as much fault as anyone else. Probably not as much as Tritter. But before his anger could get any worse just by thinking the guy's name, House spoke up again. "Do… you think you could stay with me tonight?"

That rewarded House with a few confused blinks from Wilson. He thought House would have been mad at him for what he had done. But, apparently that wasn't the case. "Uh yeah, sure." Since he was in the middle of a divorce anyway, Wilson had planned on staying at a hotel. But House needed him, so of course his plans had changed for the night. "Whenever you're ready to go…"

"I want you to do one more thing for me," House added.

"Hm?"

Finally, the doctor looked at Wilson. "I need you to make sure I go through with checking myself into rehab." The oncologist's brow rose. _So many surprises…_ "Are- are you sure? I mean-" House laughed. "Wilson, I swear sometimes you sound like my mom. I'm a big kid." _Literally._ "I can make decisions for myself." Wilson also chuckled and nodded his head. "Okay, all right." He then moved to turn on his car. "Ready to go home?"

House nodded, seeming way more relaxed than he was when he first got into the car. _It was a start_, Wilson thought. But there was way more to come in the next few days; they still had to go to court to decide whether House was going to go to jail or not. And that thought struck him with dread; the new evidence that was found- House stealing the pills- was an easy ticket into jail. _But_ having him go into rehab could possibly save him from jail time. _Let's hope that'll be the case, _Wilson thought as he drove his best friend home.


	8. Fix You

**Chapter 8: Fix You**

"Not guilty."

The first day in court made House a little nervous, but not as much since he had someone else helping him fight this battle. However, Wilson couldn't make it, but he knew he was safe since Cuddy and other people were in the room with him. While the judge read off the date of the hearing, House glanced back toward Tritter, who had that same damned look of disappointment on his face._ Don't give me that crap you asshole,_ he thought, _you've done way worse than I ever did_. And once they were dismissed, he was about to tell him off right there. But his lawyer stopped him before he got the chance. They had enough evidence to place House in jail for ten years; if he wanted another charge of witness intimidation, then he could go talk to the cop. Of course House didn't want to deal with all of that. Tritter would have to wait for another time.

The case back at the hospital was far from House's mind at the moment; his leg had been sore all morning. He rubbed at it absent-mindedly while Cameron went on about what was wrong with the new patient. Not only was his leg pain an issue, but the fact that he had to check into rehab was another thing. _Wilson's going to make sure I actually go through with it,_ he thought as he started to push himself up from the table, _no turning back now. _Apparently, Cameron wasn't finished going on about the patient. She cut him off, leaving him to stand on his painful leg. "Incase you haven't noticed, I'm not in the mood to dance," he said to her.

"I'm not asking you to dance," she said sternly, "I'm asking you to do your job." She knew what had been on his mind and his job seemed to be the only thing that helped him keep his mind off of everything that was going on in his personal life. Even though she didn't know about Tritter, Cameron knew how to get House back on his feet. So after Chase offered an idea for the case, House told them to have at it and they all left. But he couldn't relax yet; Cuddy had called him to her office.

"If you called me for a design for my prison tats," he started, leaning off of his bad leg as much as he could without making it noticeable, "they're still in R and D."

"You need to talk to Tritter."

House lowered his gaze, his brow rising slightly. "Not according to my lawyer."

"Your lawyer isn't going to be able to get the DA to drop the case. Tritter can."

_Damn it Cuddy, you know he won't drop the case; he wouldn't even let me take the deal right off the bat. Not to mention apparently he likes me being his little play thing… _"Yeah, you know what else Tritter can do?"

She slammed the file she was looking at on her desk, but House didn't flinch. "You are not impressing anyone!" House just stared back at her. _Who am I supposed to be impressing here? I'm doing this to save my ass from going in jail! _"You may call yourself principled," she continued, "but what you really are is a stubborn adolescent idiot! This isn't his fault."

_**Yes it is.**_ "I'm not the one who-"

"_You _used the rectal thermometer on him…" _He tried to attack me_. "_You_ insulted him instead of apologizing…" _The guy __**raped**__ me. _"_You _flaunted your drug use **in his face** and you refused to accept a deal-"

"I accepted the deal!" he argued out loud that time.

"Not until _after_ you stole a dead guy's pills!" House's brow rose slightly, but averted his gaze as he was disciplined. "Allegedly," he added in a somewhat shameful tone.

"Tritter has been opening doors for you every step of the way and you keep slamming them shut." His gaze shifted back up, his blue eyes suddenly holding an angry gaze in them _He hasn't done __**anything**__ to help me. He's the cause of all of this. _"There are no more openings to give, House. If you wanna stay out of prison, you got to make one for yourself." As she turned to walk back to her desk, House lowered his gaze. Not in shame that time, but more in thought. Cuddy really wanted him to talk to the cop- not just to save his ass, but for some other reason. He knew he had to talk to Tritter already- so why the sudden push forward?

Cuddy slapped a prescription in House's hand. "It's Vicodin," she told him, "You function better on it. Talk to him."

_I'm not ready…_ Without another word, House slowly turned and limped out of her office. What could he say to Tritter? There was nothing for _him_ to say; Tritter should be the one saying something to House. Apologizing, telling him he'd drop the case. But Tritter wasn't going to do that; he wanted his toy. And clearly, he was going to do anything he could to get House. All of that was rushing through his mind even when his team kept following him around the halls. House went to grab his coat and then go to the elevator. _What the hell do I even say?_ He asked himself as he rode the elevator down to the first floor. Whatever it was, he hoped he could think of it quickly.

But before he knew it, he was walking into the police station. _Great, I've got nothing_. With a sigh, he walked in and Tritter looked up at him. Was he honestly surprised? House did his best to avoid rolling his eyes at the idiot as he made his way over to Tritter's desk. _Say something at least,_ he thought while he stood there, not making eye contact with the cop.

"I'm busy," Tritter spoke up first. "Can I just assume that you told me how unfair I'm being and-"

"I'm sorry." _Hold on- __**what**__? _Even Tritter was surprised. Yet the apology was so forced and so fake- because House _knew_ he didn't do anything wrong. Yet there he was trying to apologize for something he didn't even do. He and Wilson had just talked about all that the night before and it was all being thrown out the window. For now, though, it had to be; if House wanted to stay out of trouble, he had to play nice.

House lowered his gaze before he continued, "You could throw a dart at all the adjectives between arrogant and unhinged, and I'm sure you'd hit one that describes me. There's… a reason I operate that way." _But you already know that._ And it showed in Tritter's gaze when House looked up again. "It doesn't mean that I… handled this right." House almost couldn't finish the 'apology'. He felt so disgusted with himself- why did he have to apologize to the guy responsible for his emotional pain? "Actually, it means I was wrong."

Tritter was just basking in all of it. House hated the man more than he hated anyone else. The grip on his cane had tightened, but if he wanted more years in jail, he would have already hit the cop. "Thank you," Tritter said finally. But the doctor knew something else was up. "I know that couldn't have been easy for you to say." _Fuck you._ "Even if you don't mean a word of it."

His head snapped right back up to look at the cop, who was already making his way back toward his desk to sit down. House couldn't believe it; Tritter wanted an apology- he got one. The damned prick didn't take it. House turned his head to the side, letting every cuss word run through his mind first before he tried again. "I'm sorry." Even that one was worse than the first attempt. He started to panic. "Look, you can hook me up to a damn polygraph-"

"And I'm sure you'd pass." _Make up your damn mind- what the hell do you want from me?!_ "The thing is: I've never been interested in what you have to say. All I care about is what you do. I'll see you at the hearing."

House finally got his answer. All he had to do was find Wilson and check himself into rehab as soon as he got back to the hospital. But his team got to him first. While he 'listened' to the case, House stared at one of his pills on the tabletop, spinning it slowly with his finger. He didn't want to go to rehab, but he already told Wilson he would. _I can't go back now_, he thought as he looked up at his team, who seemed to be waiting for a reply. "Great," he said, standing up, "have at it."

Apparently, that didn't satisfy them. "That's it?" Cameron asked, following House toward Wilson's office. "No challenging our theory, no tearing us down?" He half listened to Cameron while he glanced down the hall and called for the younger doctor. Immediately, he knew what House was going to do. "No need," House replied, pushing the elevator button. Wilson stood next to him and looked back at Cameron as House did, "you got it under control."

"Where are you going?" Chase asked. Wilson shifted his gaze toward House. Apparently they didn't know what was going on, which the oncologist could understand; they didn't need to know about the issue with Tritter. The doors slid open behind them and the two friends stepped inside.

"I'm checking myself into rehab," House replied, the doors closing before anymore could be said.

Wilson glanced over at House while the elevator took them up. "I'm glad you're doing this," he said, "You're doing the right-"

"I apologized to Tritter," House interrupted."

That was very shocking for Wilson- to the point where he didn't believe it at first. _He's got to be joking… _Wilson's brow rose and looked at House. There was no teasing look, no sarcasm- he was serious. "Why? For what?"

House merely shrugged. "I don't know. Cuddy wanted me to talk to him, I didn't know what to say, so…" Wilson merely shook his head. Not at House, but at Cuddy for forcing House to do something he couldn't do… yet. "You didn't have to talk to him yet."

"It let me know that if I didn't go to rehab, I'd definitely go to prison." With a light ding, the doors opened again and House looked at Wilson. "This is my last opening; I can't stand up to Tritter yet so I can't make one for myself. Right now, this is the best I can do." His friend nodded in understanding, patting House's back reassuringly before they went to check him in.

------

Rehab wasn't all that the smiling faces on the brochures made it seem to be- but House had his own ways of making it such. Not to mention that he got visits from his team about the case, so that helped him get through the time he spent there. The group sessions were one of the things that made him uneasy, however; he didn't like how they tried to be his friend and try to know what made House the addict that he was. But he figured he could stand it; it was all a show for Tritter and the judge so he could save himself from Tritter. It really was his last lifeline.

"How about you, Greg?" the therapist asked. "Have you thought about how to fix things with people in your life?" House shook his head, looking toward the paper fortune-teller he was shuffling in his hands. "No need. The people in my life have no expectations of me. Makes all our lives easier."

"Apparently not."

Tired blue optics shifted from the paper to the therapist. For some reason he had been expecting an irritated look on the therapist's face. He was so used to it from the others- but that was House's own fault. Instead, the man was smiling with a kind look in his eyes. "The first step in recovery-"

"Is to admit I have a problem," House finished with a nod, once again continuing to shuffle the paper in his hands. "I've obviously done that, or I wouldn't be here. I've even embraced step two and accepted there is a higher power. Maybe not a god, per se, but that Andre the Giant guy was powerful." He looked around and a few of the patients smiled at the joke. "Where I start to butt up against it is step three, surrendering my will to this higher power. I'm sure Andre's ghost has my back and all, but my free will, I never leave home without it."

"Kind of like your pills." House bit his bottom lip lightly to avoid letting out a sarcastic remark and he looked up at the man. "If you could do this on your own, I assume you wouldn't be here."

_He's right; I thought I could handle this, but I couldn't. The night Tritter got to me… it just fell apart from there._ House nodded, "True. I thought I could, but it's just… It got way out of hand." And he wasn't talking about his addiction anymore. He thought ignoring Tritter would make him go away, but that only got him to turn to Wilson and other people in House's life. He tried apologizing to the damned bastard even though House did nothing wrong. But Tritter didn't want that. So there he was in rehab trying to put on a show for the cop and the judge so he could get out of jail. But hope there was fading fast.

He thought back to what Cuddy had told him in her office. She had wanted him to talk to Tritter, to try and get him to drop the case. But she was pushing House so desperately about it; she knew something was up. The yelling wasn't so much discipline as it was to get House to stand up for himself instead of letting Tritter constantly jerk him around. If he really wanted out of this, he would _really_ have to talk to Tritter. But was he really ready for that? Could he really stand up for himself after what had happened? Everything was happening so fast all of a sudden and it was just out of his control.

When his team had returned to visit about the patient, House's stomach was feeling very uneasy. Worries about what he had been thinking over had gotten to him and he was feeling scared again. But he blamed it on the rehab and pills to hide behind the mask. Everything was just coming at him so fast and it was all out of his control. He wanted to talk to Wilson, but his friend was busy. He told House he would visit after work, so he was really looking forward to that. But for now, he had to deal with being sick.

Later that day, House sat by one of the windows, smoking a cigarette. Wilson walked in and looked at him with a raised brow. "How are you doing?" he asked slowly, seeming almost afraid to ask at the strange sight.

"Not bad," House replied, looking down at the cigarette between his fingers, "considering I just learned I'm completely powerless."

"See this big fancy wing? It was built because this program works."

"Faulty logic. This big fancy wing exists because some people with money think it works, wanna believe that they can buy a better world." He looked once more at his cigarette before flicking the ashes into an ash tray. "This is nothing short of idealized despair. Let other people wallow in it." He lifted the nicotine stick back to his lips and took a drag.

"I don't even know what that means," Wilson said in a flat tone.

"None of this means anything. It's just nonsensical slogans and platitudes."

_House what the hell…? _"Meaning takes time, it takes work."

House shook his head. "What do you think I've been doing?"

Wilson stood up. "You've been here for _two_ days! Talk about wallowing in it!" Realizing what he had been saying, House's eyes widened slightly and he lowered his gaze. "We all get it. We know how much pain you have. You're here to deal with that and _get on with your life_!"

"Right! I should have an affair with a dying patient and move into a hotel." That struck Wilson like a slap in the face. But it didn't make him back down from the argument. House was just using rehab to run away from his problem. He needed to face Tritter head on; it was the only way House could really move on. But he wasn't making any sort of effort. And that was what made Wilson upset.

"You're a coward, House." Slowly, the older doctor's head lifted up and he looked at his friend. But he said nothing; he knew Wilson was right. "You find fault in everybody because you're afraid to look at yourself."

"Thanks. I was running out of platitudes." He gestured toward the door. "You can leave now." _Don't do this; you're only pushing him away. You got him close and now look-_ As Wilson shook his head and started walking away, House's head lowered in thought. He knew Wilson's wasn't blaming him for anything that happened with Tritter; but that didn't mean he wasn't at fault for keeping himself wallowing in the pain of what the cop did. Not facing Tritter made House stay a coward- stay that little lost boy that he was when he had gotten raped. Wilson was still there for him- like Cuddy had done, he was just giving House an extra push.

_But am I ready for this?_ he thought as he took another drag on the cigarette and looked out the window. Then his blue eyes flickered and his brow narrowed. _No, I never will be… but still I have to do this. I have to have a backbone._ He had to stand up and push himself now so he could move forward. Make that third opening for himself. Otherwise, he would be stuck with Tritter for a long time.

------

The days went by quickly and the hearing was only a day away. House was doing better in rehab- even though he wasn't going to admit that. His team and Cuddy had visited him, but when he asked about Wilson, Cuddy had only told him that he was busy and would visit when he could. House was doubting that but kept that under wraps, trying to take his mind off of it by playing around with clay. But he was interrupted from his work when he noticed someone standing in front of his table. Slowly, House lifted his head- only to feel his stomach drop and his heart beat painfully against his chest. But at that point, House had gotten good at hiding his fear.

"Caterpillar?" Tritter asked, looking at House's piece of art.

"Lower intestine with ulcerative colitis," he replied, holding it up as if the cop would be able to recognize it better. "You crash art therapy classes just for the adrenaline rush?"

"Cuddy wouldn't get off the phone until I promised I'd come and see for myself." He paused, as if taking in the surprise he was about to admit that he had. "I got to admit, this move I did not expect."

House tilted his head to the side lightly as he continued to smooth out the clay on the intestines sculpture. "Well, don't tell anyone, but the photos of smiling people in the brochures, it's just marketing." He looked up at Tritter, who just chewed on his gum annoyingly.

"Well, you're obviously making an effort." The comment sounded very simple… _too_ simple. House didn't like the sound of it. "So," the cop went on, "I suppose the next step is for me to talk to the DA." The doctor knew exactly what was going on in Tritter's head. And it took a lot for him not to throw the intestines at his face. "Which you have no intention of doing."

Tritter shook his head with an amused smirk. "No."

House gritted his teeth for a small moment, lowering his gaze. He wasn't scared anymore; anger was starting to bubble up inside of him. He was _so_ ready to get up and kick the cop's ass- if only his leg wasn't hurting so bad… "So words mean nothing, actions mean nothing, what the hell is left? What do you want from me?"

He merely shrugged at House, which just sent him over the edge. He wasn't going to take this anymore; House had finally snapped. Cuss words rang in his mind as he watched Tritter walk away, but one of those curses was called out to him in a loud, angry voice. "You son of a **bitch**!" It got the cop's attention; he stopped and started to turn back toward House, who got up and started to limp toward him. "What about _your_ words, _your_ actions? "Got to get House cleaned up. Got to get him to show some _humility_." But when it comes to actually doing something, you prove that all you care about is bitch-slapping a guy who refused to kiss your ass!"

Tritter looked at him, calm and rather cocky. But House caught a very different look in his eyes: surprise. And the doctor smirked on the inside. "You ever trust an addict?" Tritter asked. "You ever give one the benefit of the doubt? How many times did that work out for you-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. So you were screwed over by your wife, your mother, your partner. But you keep send them Christmas cards while you take it out on everyone else!" There was no more fear for Tritter; whatever was left of it was turned into anger and frustration and he was finally letting Tritter have it. And it felt great. "No more Christmas cards," the cop said, a smile forming on his face that made House want to punch him in the damned jaw. "No, I learned. People like you, even your actions lie."

"I know- and so do yours. You're trying to turn me into the bully by turning everyone against me. If anyone's the bully, it's _you_. You should be the one standing in here, worrying about whether you'll go on trial or get it up the ass in jail." He didn't care about anyone hearing; House had enough of all of this. "You try to play the good guy and give me all of these options out when _you're _the one slamming the doors shut right in my face. You're the one that's lying and jerking me around. But not anymore; I'm done being your little play thing."

Tritter was looking at House, as if searching for some sort of weakness. But there was none; House had faced his fears and won. The cop's gaze then shifted around to see that the patients were all staring at them at that point. Even having them know what happened send Tritter walking out the door without another word. The crippled man let his shoulders slump and he sighed in relief. Tritter wasn't going to hurt him ever again; for once, House finally felt safe.


	9. Look After You

**Chapter 9: Look After You**

Wilson arrived in the rehab wing to check on House. He had heard about his friend's outburst and wanted to see him as soon as he had gotten off work. He tried to hide that he was in a rush, but really he couldn't help it. What if House was having a break down? Was he okay? Would he _ever_ be okay? He walked in and saw his team walking out before he looked toward the couch. House was sitting there, looking up at Wilson with his tired blue eyes. But there was a different emotion in them that Wilson noticed, but he couldn't quite read. _Or was an emotion missing? _Before he sat down, he gave House a bag. "I got you something."

Brow narrowed curiously, the doctor looked at it and then stuck his hand inside. When he pulled it back out, he was holding a tie. "Nice." But the moment was short lived when Voldemort looked over. House caught his gaze and showed him the empty bag, which was approved by the supervisor.

"I figured it might help make a good impression on the judge," Wilson replied.

"It's not _that_ nice." Wilson just smiled at the comment, letting House check out his gift. But the other doctor had different thoughts on his mind. And since Wilson didn't seem to be mad at him, he figured he was finally able to tell him. "I had no business blaming you for any of this," he started slowly, his gaze on the tie in his hands.

Wilson blinked and looked up at his friend, confused. The subject came up out of nowhere for one, and two- why was House about to apologize to him? He did nothing wrong; it was mostly Tritter's fault- and Wilson's himself since he was making decisions without getting the full story. He didn't need an apology from House. But he let the other keep talking. _Just let him say what he needs to..._

"I know you were just trying to help me," House continued, and then added in a quieter voice, "to protect me." He knew his friend still felt guilty about not being able to protect him; but it wasn't as if he knew Tritter was going to do that to him. House glanced up at Wilson, who still had his brow furrowed. "That's what friends do."

When there was a pause, Wilson asked, "Is this… an apology?"

"Part of the program." Even though the reply made the apology seem like a joke, Wilson knew it was real. It had to be. House then added, "If you don't like it, I can stop."

He shook his head. "Not at all… if it's something you think you have to do." He then gestured for House to keep going. "Please, continue."

House watched his friend carefully; knowing that Wilson was actually going to listen and that realization made a smile appear on his face. Not that he didn't before; it just made him feel even more protected and strong. However once he started again, House's smile faded and he looked back at the tie. "I was just… scared. I didn't want to tell anyone what happened because I didn't think anyone would believe me. So I went from just being scared to being scared _and_ angry." He swallowed, but Wilson didn't make any moves to stop him. "Like I said, you were just trying to protect me and I'm really glad you did." House looked up at the oncologist that time, nodding his head to emphasize what he said. "And I'm glad that you believe me even after all the things I said."

_Of course I would believe you_, Wilson thought, _you're my friend, House. I know you wouldn't make something like this up._

"So… I'm sorry for everything."

He knew it was hard for his friend to say, especially after all that had happened in the last week. "You were just finding ways to cope with what happened- to make you feel less afraid and angry. Sure they probably weren't the best of ways to go about it, but you were scared. It's understandable."

"I'm still scared."

It came out rushed, like if House didn't admit it then, it would never have come out. Wilson was surprised, yet at the same time he knew. Leaning forward, Wilson rested one elbow on his knee while his other hand reached out to rest on House's knee comfortingly. "I know. And it's okay."

House's gaze shifted to the hand on his knee. The younger doctor almost hesitated and tried to move it, but he felt his friend's hand rest on top of it to keep it there. He just felt more assured that everything was really going to be okay; he trusted Wilson and he wanted his friend to know that. But his fears and nerves were still trying to get the best of him. "Will things be normal again?"

There was that weak voice. It made Wilson feel so horrible to see his friend like that; in such a weakened state when he was usually so strong and full of pride. "I honestly don't know." That lost look was returning to House's eyes and Wilson knew that was the wrong answer. He didn't know how to handle these situations. But House trusted him and he didn't want to lie. "But," he added quickly, "I think that would have to be up to you."

The older doctor's brow furrowed lightly in thought. He knew it would take time to get over what happened. But he didn't like how it had to be up to him; it made House feel like he had to face it all on his own. "Don't leave."

Wilson's squeezed House's knee gently. "I'm not going anywhere. This time I'll be here for you. I promise."

Before anymore could be said, Voldemort arrived to tell them that visiting hours were over. Even Wilson mentally cursed at the guy, but really he was just doing his job. The oncologist looked at his friend and House returned the gaze, nodding lightly to him in a silent good-bye since neither of them could even get the words out. Wilson left the rehab feeling just as nervous as House was and felt the same way for the rest of the night.

------

House felt like he was going to vomit- both out of nervousness of finding out where he was going to go and out of disgust at once again being in the same room as Tritter. The only thing that kept him behaved and feeling safe was the fact that Wilson was in the court room with them. The cop was on the stand and he kept glancing over at House, who gently tapped his fingers on the tabletop and shifted nervously in his seat. But Tritter didn't have that amused look in his eye- even though House was starting to realize that the judge was going to support the cop either way. His mind was going a mile a minute, repeating over and over that he was going to go to jail and that Tritter was definitely going to get him. At one point, he turned to glance back at Wilson, who immediately shifted his gaze toward House.

_Just stay calm House,_ Wilson thought as he gave his friend a reassuring nod, _hang in there, it'll be okay._

But to House's relief- and everyone else's irritation- his phone began to ring. Quickly, he turned his back to his lawyer who was telling him to turn the phone off. "I told you never to call me when I'm on trial," the doctor quietly joked to Cameron.

She began to talk about the patient, whose memories had been false, and told House they fried the man's brain for nothing even though they thought it would save him. So whatever had been killing him before was still there. House glanced toward the judge as if silently telling her to shut Tritter and his lawyer up. When she did he gave her a quick smile. "Thanks, your honor," he said with a quick wink, "it's hard to hear." She did not look amused, but at least it was helping him calm down.

"I believe this is a medical emergency, your honor," House's lawyer spoke up, standing from his seat as if that would help emphasize his defense.

However the judge wasn't hearing it; she told House to hang up again, but he wasn't listening. He kept talking to his team on the phone, which made Wilson start to worry. _House just do as she says and hang up the damned phone! _Cuddy glanced over at him and shook her head. "What the hell is he thinking," she muttered.

"I don't know," Wilson replied, shaking his leg nervously as he sat. Cuddy noticed the nervous gesture and her brow rose. "Is there something I don't know?"

He finally looked at her, almost jumping at the question. "What? No, nothing."

"Right." She was less than convinced. For now, though, she left him alone.

"Dr House, hang up!" The judge cried again. "Now!"

Finally, the crippled doctor looked up. "Hang on a second," he muttered into the phone and then turned the receiver from his mouth as he spoke to the judge, "Does your voice always get that high and annoying when you're angry?"

"Do you _want_ to go to jail?"

House almost laughed at the simple question. But he decided against it and simply shook his head. "No thank you." Once more, he turned to his phone. "Set him up for a selective vertebral angiography. I'm on my way." Pushing up from the table, House hung up and walked around his table. Quickly, Cuddy and Wilson stood up from their seats. "House! Sit down!" Cuddy said, glaring at him.

"Why? I'm bored," House joked. His friend then realized the hidden reason behind House's 'escape' and tried to move around Cuddy to follow him out. House then turned and gave a look toward Tritter and the judge. "There's nothing I can say or do that's gonna make a difference here."

_House, don't…_ Wilson's mind pleaded.

"If you leave this room, I will find you in contempt," the judge warned.

Not seeming to care, House walked out. With a quiet growl of frustration, Wilson finally slipped past Cuddy and ran out after House. "House, what the hell?"

"I have to help my patient." He was unable to hide the shaking of his voice, but he kept walking. Finally, Wilson ran faster and swung around so he was blocking his friend. "You're just running away. That's only going to _help_ you get in jail."

"I'm not running away; I need to help my patient." House wasn't hiding the truth; he knew Wilson already knew. His actions didn't matter anymore; the judge was siding with Tritter and House was once again going to be the damned cop's play toy anyway. What was the point of staying there to hear his fate? "There's no reason for me to stay; I'm Tritter's toy either way."

Suddenly, House felt forceful hands take the sides of his face and pull his head so his gaze would have to be on Wilson. The look in his friend's eyes wasn't angry or a glare, but he did look stern. House didn't fight or look away; his own fearful eyes looked down right back at Wilson. "Leaving the court room _will_ get you in jail," Wilson said in a low tone, letting go of House's face.

However, after leaning his cane against the wall, House grabbed Wilson's face and looked down at him. "Stop treating me like I'm a kid," he said, "I'm going to be fine." But he even didn't believe that. He just wanted out for a while, just to clear his head. House let go of his friend's face and walked around him, leaving Wilson standing in surprise. Maybe he _was_ going to be okay; but the fear in his eyes…

Wilson was about to turn, but Cuddy grabbed his shoulder and swung him back around. "You better tell me what the _hell_ is going on," she snapped. Apparently House had already left since it was Wilson that she was snapping at. At first he hesitated; _should I tell her? He trusts me, I don't know if I can…_ but it was their only shot at getting House out of jail. Maybe she could figure something out to get House a get-out-of-jail-free card.

"We can't let him go into jail," Wilson replied, finally making his decision.

But the Dean of Medicine wasn't amused. "Give me a good reason why."

He kept his voice low incase if anyone else were to walk out, but loud enough so Cuddy could hear. "Would the fact that Tritter's a rapist be a good enough one?"

------

House knew that Wilson had told Cuddy right when he walked back into the courtroom. The look on her eyes was of guilt and sadness for him, but he immediately looked toward the judge and apologized for interrupting the hearing. Yet again the judge didn't want to hear it from him and he just gave a look toward Wilson. He also had a guilty look in his eyes along with an apologetic one. House knew he did it to try and help him get out of jail but with how things had been going, House knew he was stuck going either way.

"What is this?" Tritter's lawyer continued, holding up the pharmacy log.

Cuddy's attention returned to the book and immediately she frowned. "That's our prescription sign-out log from December twenty-fourth."

"Does that appear to be Dr. House's signature?"

She almost cringed when she saw and recognized it. "Yes."

"What is he signed for?"

"A prescription for oxycodone in the name of patient Larry Zebalusky."

"And did those pills ever reach that patient?"

"No."

"Why?"

"He was already dead."

_Yeah, I'm going to jail,_ House thought, daring a glance toward Tritter, who just sat rather triumphantly in his seat. It made the doctor sick, but he didn't let it show as he looked back toward Cuddy on the stand.

"So Dr. House had no legal or medical basis for acquiring that oxycodone?" The lawyer went on to ask. Cuddy paused and looked over at House with an almost sad gaze in her eyes. Could she really let him go to jail? Especially after she knew what Tritter had done to him? Guilt overcame her for the things that she had said and done to make House feel worse in that past week, but she couldn't let it get in the way of her thought process; there _was_ something that she could do to help…

"He never got the pills."

The answer even shocked House as he sat in his seat, watching Cuddy carefully. _What is she doing?_

"It's his signature. The log is strictly controlled," the lawyer tried to confirm.

"Dr. House did pick up a prescription, but it wasn't for oxycodone." Losing all his triumph, Tritter leaned forward in his seat as his lawyer continued. "It says oxycodone. You testified…"

"I know, but it wasn't oxycodone." Wilson's gaze shifted from Cuddy to House for any sign of what was going on. But even he had no clue. "Dr. Wilson informed me that Dr. House already tried to steal the pain medication of this patient, which made clear to me that Dr. House was in a particularly vulnerable and desperate state. So I went to the pharmacy and I swapped bottles."

House lowered his head. Even though Cuddy was lying, there was no proof that she had actually swapped the bottles. It was a good try, but not good enough. Slowly, House started to try and shut off his mind once more.

"I understand your impulse to protect a valued colleague…" _No you don't_, Cuddy thought to herself before she went to phase two of her plan.

"I have it right here on the inventory report." House's head snapped up and even Tritter jumped to his feet, almost panicking. "Your Honor, she's lying! She's obviously forged the report."

But then House's lawyer stood. "In light of this evidence-"

"If this is real," Tritter's lawyer butted in, "why didn't she mention it earlier?"

"I move to dismiss this case!"

Tritter snapped again, "There is other evidence, your honor!"

The judge had enough of it all. "Everyone shut up and sit down." She waited for the men to calm down before she turned to Cuddy. All three doctors were rather disgusted at how desperate Tritter was to get House in jail, but they kept their composure none the less. "Dr. Cuddy," the judge continued, "why are you only now coming forward with this?"

Cuddy bit her bottom lip and shook her head more at herself than anyone else. She looked at House as if she was about to apologize to him. "I guess I never expected it to go this far."

The other woman looked away before excusing Cuddy from the stand. Tritter's lawyer tried once more, but he was immediately dismissed. "Dr. House, please stand."

Slowly, House and his lawyer both stood up. _Here's the moment of truth,_ he thought half heartedly. He watched Cuddy move toward her seat, looking distraught. The judge knew the evidence was fake; the get-out-of-jail-free card failed. _You did what you thought was right…_ he reassured her silently as she sat down next to Wilson.

"My suspicion is your boss…" she stopped talking and looked from Cuddy to House, who slowly turned to look back at the judge. After deciding to change her words, the judge said, "My suspicion is you have better friends than you deserve. Rules and laws apply to everyone. You are not as special as you think. But Detective Tritter chose to make you so." House almost cringed, but he stood tall. The judge turned her attention to the cop. "Detective, I don't know exactly what's going on here, but I am sure this man is not flooding the streets with cocaine. I'm also certain knowing that Dr. House, he must have done something to set you off."

_I didn't do anything wrong… he tried hurting me first_, House corrected, but instead of speaking out loud, he looked over to find that Tritter wasn't looking as happy as he did when they all first walked in.

"But you're going to have to live with it. Given Dr. Cuddy's testimony, I'm not going to allow this to proceed to jury. Case dismissed. Court is adjourned."

Never in all of his life had House felt so relieved. He let out a quiet sigh and all the tension he felt immediately swept from him. He was free from Tritter for good. Finally, he could move forward and live his life like he had been… well, sort of. As he was about to leave, the judge addressed him once more. "Dr. House, you're still guilty of contempt for that little walkout earlier," she said. House froze. _What's going to happen…? _"You'll be spending the night in jail, and after that you're going right back to your rehab."

_Not out of the woods yet. But at least it's better than spending time with Tritter._ As the officer took him away, House heard Tritter call his name. But he wasn't scared; _now_ Tritter couldn't do anything to him. So he stopped and looked at the cop, once again letting him know he wasn't afraid. "So should I be looking for you in the shadows, flinch every time a car backfires?"

"Good luck." The doctor's brow rose at the words, but he knew Tritter didn't mean any of it. Like how he put on a show for the judge by going to rehab, Tritter was putting on a show to let the judge know that he was a 'good' man. "I hope I'm wrong about you."

_Just__ leave me alone already_. House thought, but the bailiff took care of that by taking his arm and starting to lead House away to serve his night in jail. But House wasn't caring about that anymore; he was finally free.

------

After getting many apologies from Cuddy and then getting yelled at for making her fabricate evidence, House was feeling a little bad. Sure she saved him from becoming Tritter's toy for ten years, but that meant she owned him; now he had to do double clinic duty after the rehab, give lecture to students, help her find donors, or anything else she asked him to do. But he understood why; besides, it was better than the alternative. So he nodded and she left House and Wilson alone at the cell. _Nothing's changed… that's good,_ he thought as they waited until they were sure Cuddy left.

Once Wilson started digging into his pockets, House pulled himself up from his cot and limped toward the cell door. His friend pulled out a small envelope and slid it to him through the bars. "Your buprenorphine," he said.

Almost too eagerly, House took the envelope and then glanced out toward the door incase if a cop or Cuddy was still out there. "You get these from the pharmacy or from Voldemort?"

Wilson's brow furrowed at the question. "Voldemort. Why? What difference does it…" it clicked in his mind as soon as he saw how House took the pills. _He just popped them in his mouth. Just like…_ Slowly, his eyes widened at what he had just done. "That's Vicodin. He's been slipping you Vicodin?!"

With a scoff, House shook his head. "No! He'd be risking his minimum-wage job to do that." Of course his tone was sarcastic. But he couldn't help a chuckle as Wilson rubbed his eyes in dismay. He couldn't believe it- absolutely couldn't believe it. "The whole time?" the younger man asked.

House sighed. "My higher power said it was okay."

"Nothing's changed?"

"Nothing's changed." _Thankfully._

At first Wilson looked worried, but to see House look so calm and relieved made him feel a little better. At least he was assured that his friend was going to be okay. Still, he thought House was really going to change; going through rehab, the apology… Wilson paused and looked back at House. "The apology. You didn't need to do that to make this work."

_I needed to do it to make myself feel better._ The older doctor merely grinned at Wilson, letting him think whatever he wanted. "Believe what you want."

Even after realizing all of that, Wilson couldn't help but smile. House was going to be okay- that was enough for him to feel okay about all of it. "Good night, House. I'll see you tomorrow." he started to walk down the hall.

"Good night, Jimmy," House called, eventually hearing the door close. The doctor smiled to himself as he sat in the jail cell. _It's over… it's over_. But was it really? Sure he was free from Tritter physically, but emotionally and mentally he still thought back to those nights and they still effected him. It would take time to get over, he knew that. _But would everything __**really**__ be okay?_ The smile faded from his face with that thought in mind. Slowly, he moved to lay back on the cot and go to sleep. _I guess it's up to me…_


	10. Passing Afternoon

_x.x Sorry it took forever for me to finish this last chapter. But hey at least it's done =D  
So this last chapter is from the episode "One Day, One Room". I just thought it would be a nice place to finish this story.  
I hope you guys really liked it; please rate and let me know what you think!  
--------------------_

**Chapter 10: Passing Afternoon**

It had been a week since House had spent the night in jail after the trial. Rehab was behind him- since Voldemort had been slipping him Vicodin the whole time anyway. He continued his work at the hospital, but had to abide by the deal he made to Cuddy with the extra clinic hours and such. And oh did he make sure she knew he hated it; bribing patients to leave, diagnosing them before even stepping foot into the exam rooms. All of it was done even when Cuddy was in front of him. Life went on as if the whole situation with Tritter never happened.

But that didn't mean it was forgotten. Occasionally House's mind would wander back to that day and he would wonder if he was really going to be okay. And having three patients in a row walk in with STDs didn't help calm those thoughts in the slightest. So to get away from it all, he went to the jogging park- the "last place Cuddy would ever look" as he explained to Wilson once. However, Cuddy _did_ find him and he wound up having to go back anyway.

And once again, his antics continued- offering a father and his sick son fifty dollars if they left the clinic. Two more people took up his offer until Cuddy dragged him to her office. There a deal was made to help him stay: she would give hi, ten dollars for every patient he could diagnose without touching them. For a while, that kept him in line and at work- for the most part. However once the results of those STD tests for the three patients arrived, he was back to his normal boring routine- at least until they were gone.

The first two patients were easy to send on their way; all he had to do was throw in a sarcastic remark about having them watch an after-school special like _Dawson's Creek_ and make the patient feel like an idiot. Just like he always had been doing. At least until he got to the third patient.

"I have an STD?" she asked, her eyes slowly growing wide.

"Yeah," House replied simply, swinging around with a sheepish- yet fake- smile on his face, "You're actually the first one today. Lucky day- well, not for you but you gotta feel good for everyone else."

A sudden sob was what caught his attention again. House turned and looked at the blond teenager with a furrowed brow. _Oh come on…_ "It's chlamydia. As bad news goes, it's about the best." But the girl didn't stop crying; she sniffled and reached a hand up to cover her mouth. The doctor wasn't showing any sympathy for her since one she was a teenager and had a case of "SWS"- sex while stupid. It was her own fault for making that mistake. Besides, it wasn't like she was going to die from it. "Oh settle down. It's treatable. It's actually curable."

More sobs and even trembling came from the girl. Something else must have happened to her, but that didn't faze the doctor in the slightest. Yes it made him suspicious- curious, even. So he decided to try and be a little more kind to her- even though he wasn't going to like it. House rolled his eyes a bit before offering a cup of pills for her to take. "All you gotta do is take these pills-"

But as he extended his arm, the girl's hands flew up and slapped his arm away from her. "Don't touch me!" she yelled, glaring at him with her tearful eyes. Then she became tense, her eyes practically giving him the death glare. That was when it clicked and House felt like an idiot… before his heart dropped and his stomach tied in knots. Flashes of memories from the night Tritter had arrested him came to his mind before he had the chance to stop them. And to see the girl there looking angry and scared at the same time reminded him of himself.

"Oh, God…" The girl dropped her gaze finally, her arms moving to wrap around herself. It was House's turn to become tense. _I can't deal with this- not now…_ _I can hardly take care of myself let alone someone else that's been…_ He swallowed a lump in his throat and tried to relax before he said, "Stay here." And with that, he turned and walked out of the exam room and toward Cuddy's office. She looked up at him and then he said, "I need someone to cover a patient."

Cuddy paused for only a small moment, noticing the slight tremble in House's voice. Blowing it off as a plan to get him out of clinic hours, she rolled her eyes. "House, you're committed to-"

"She was raped."

Even after hearing himself say it, House became tense. Cuddy froze in her seat, staring at him with a look of almost disbelief, yet a lot of sympathy. She knew he wasn't ready for that yet and she had tried to keep an eye out for House ever since she found out what happened. And to give him a patient that went through the same thing he did… Cuddy wasn't sure if it would be a good or bad thing. So far, though, it was proving to be bad.

"You think I'm the right doctor for her?" he asked, attempting that same sheepish look. It failed miserably; he was still very shaken up by the sudden flashback he received in that exam room. Cuddy's gaze returned to meet his and she shook her head slightly.

"We'll get her another doctor," she replied, moving to stand up. House nodded and was about to move when the Dean of Medicine addressed him again. "You okay?"

"Peachy," he replied with strained sarcasm. He shouldn't have been disappointed; the girl was going to be put in better hands. Yet he was angry- not only at her, but himself. Angry at the patient for reminding him of what he was trying to get over, and angry at himself for not being able to overcome what Tritter had done. _He can't hurt me anymore, _he reassured himself, _I'm going to be fine, he can't touch me anymore…_

His mind kept going even as he went on to check other patients. And no matter how much he tried to tell himself he would be okay, his mind would retort and argue that he was being a coward and that Tritter won. And House didn't have to go to jail for him to win- that was the worst part. _I'm not going to escape from this._

"House," Cuddy's voice called. The doctor stopped and turned, trying to give her the most bored expression he could muster in his current state. "The patient wants to see you- no one else," she said in a hesitant tone.

"Why?" he asked, "there's a lot of other people who-"

"She's refusing to see any of them. She only wants to see you." House's brow furrowed and he averted his gaze. _I can't do this._ Cuddy tilted her head to the side slightly to get a better look at her friend. "Just try and talk to her. Maybe it'll help you-"

"I'm fine." She was taken back by the sudden reply. Though he said he was, Cuddy knew otherwise. So how would she get him to go? Challenge him. "Prove it by talking to her."

He knew what she was planning right when he snapped at her. House tilted his head back, as if asking 'Do I _have_ to'. Before he knew it, he was sitting on his stool in the exam room, bouncing his cane while the girl sat on the other side of the room. Neither of them said a word after House had walked in and the situation went from tense to awkward within two minutes. _This is a waste of time, _he thought and then finally spoke up. "Why do you want _me_?"

She merely shrugged, "I don't know." That wasn't the reply he was looking for. There was no reason to make him go to that room to talk to her if she wasn't going to talk or even to tell him why she wanted him- of all people- to be there. Besides, he didn't want to treat her- and he told her that.

"You're just saying that so I'll see a psychiatrist."

"True," House replied, nodding his head slightly, "Except for the word 'just'. I'm saying I don't want to treat you so you'll see the psychiatrist and because I don't want to treat you." Yes he was being hypocritical; he never went to see a psychiatrist for what happened to him, but House wasn't a fan of talking to a therapist. For him, it was easier for him to talk to Wilson rather than a complete stranger.

Apparently, the girl wasn't taking that for an answer. Pushing herself from the wall, she moved back toward the examination table and rested her hands on it, her eyes still focused on the crippled doctor. "Why don't you want to treat me anymore?"

"I never wanted to treat you." he paused. "The fact that you were raped…" he let out a small sigh, hoping the teen wouldn't notice his tension. "… holds no interest for me. It's nothing personal." _Liar_. It was mainly the personal reason. Not against her, of course. Just because he was going through the same thing that she was. "There's nothing to treat," he added, shrugging a shoulder lightly, "you're physically healthy."

She was disappointed, but she knew she wasn't going to win the argument. So the teenager nodded. "Okay." House then nodded as well, moving to get up from the stool. "But I want you to be my doctor."

He stopped and looked back at her with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't know," she replied. She looked so lost and confused- it just kept reminding House of himself. But at least he had _reasons_ for why he acted the way he did. "Well you gotta have a reason. Everything has a reason."

Her tone was very sincere. "I trust you."

He wanted to laugh. "Ah you see, that's a bad reason. 'Cause I'll lie to you. I'll tell you anything just to get you out of here."

"I don't care. I want to talk to you."

_But why?! Why me- of all people? How am I going to help you when I can't even help myself?_ Again, he sighed but that time it was out of frustration. "Look, you were raped. All control was taken from you. You're trying to find that control again. You want me because I don't want you."

It didn't register how he had been explaining it until she asked, "I'm raping you?"

He flinched slightly, shrugging his shoulders and nodding his head to the side. "In a very noninvasive, more annoying than traumatic-"

"Get the **hell** out of here!" she roared at him, turning and moving back to her corner of the room. House merely rolled his eyes and turned toward the door. "I'll send in Dr. Stone." But as he was leaving, he looked back at her. _What the hell is with this girl?_ he thought before finally moving to leave.

------

"How long has Stone been in there with her?" House asked, looking through the glass at the patient.

Cuddy looked up at him from a file. "Are you concerned?"

"Do you know how many people get raped every day? If we were to care about every suffering person on the planet, life would shut down."

"How about just the _ones we meet_?" House didn't look up from the file he was reading when the words were emphasized. "They deserve our sympathy more than the other people?"

Cuddy kept her gaze on him. "So you're solution is not to give a damn about either of them. How do you do that? How do you take that theory and put it into practice? I thought you of all people would have been able to help her."

"Why, because we have that one thing in common?"

"Yes!"

He rolled his eyes. "She doesn't want to talk to me about it. All she does is waste my time-"

"I need a crash cart! Stat!" Dr. Stone's voice called from the exam room.

Both of the doctors looked back, House being the first one to move toward the door, but Cuddy was faster and slipped past him and into the room. House stopped at the doorway, catching sight of the blond girl twitching on the floor, foam slipping from her mouth. "What happened?" he asked.

"Pills," Dr. Stone replied, "Benzos. We need to get her stomach pumped."

"Respiration's shallow," Cuddy said, kneeling by the patient.

"What did you say to her?" House asked Stone.

Startled by the concern and the not so subtle accusation, she shook her head, "Nothing that would make her want to-"

"Heart beat's irregular."

"What did she say to you?" House asked Dr. Stone again.

"Nothing. I gave her a couple of sedatives, turned around, and she grabbed the whole bottle."

_Liar_. "You must have said something."

"I said plenty- she said nothing. I was with her for over an hour. She didn't say a word."

The crippled doctor's brow furrowed. Clearly, she wanted to talk to only him. Unfortunately, it took her swallowing all of those pills to get it to register to everyone- even House himself. It was pretty pathetic- then again, with the things he had done, he wasn't one to judge.

So while she was being kept in the hospital, he stayed with her. Of course he didn't just sit there; he had his PSP to keep himself occupied until she would wake up. Catching movement out of his peripheral vision, House looked up and saw her try to move her arms. They had to be restrained since she had pulled that stunt in the exam room. After turning his game off, House got up from his seat and went to check her pulse.

"You gonna do that again?" he asked. She shook her head. The gesture was simple and could have been taken as a lie, yet for some reason House believed her. So he started to undo the restraints from around her wrists. "You're going to be okay. Physically."

"Which is all that interests you," she mumbled, watching as he limped over to the other side of the bed. He paused and they both looked at each other. "But you're here."

"Under orders." he half lied. And apparently, she saw right through the lie. "Why would you tell me that?" she asked.

"'Cause I don't like hypocrisy."

"But you don't have a problem with cruelty?"

He checked her eyes before replying with another question. "Which brings us back to, why do you want me?"

And for a reply, he got the same three words: "I don't know."

"You tried to kill yourself because you couldn't talk to me. You must have a reason."

"Why does there always have to be a reason? Can't we just talk?"

Blue hues shifted toward the phone and he nodded his head toward it. "There's a phone. Talk to a friend, a family member. Call the police." _I wish I had those options right away…_ But his only reply was a sigh. _All right fine… I'll give it a shot. Otherwise she'll never leave me alone._ "Do you want to talk about what happened to you?"

"No."

"Want to talk about your STD meds?" _What?! Why would she want to talk about that of all things?_

"No." _Good answer… sort of._

"You don't really seem to want to talk."

"No I do."

"About what?" _Dare I ask…?_

"I don't know- anything."

His brow rose and he shook his head. "The weather?" She nodded in reply. House paused, staring at her out of pure confusion. _Waste. Of. Time._ "You were raped and you want to talk about the weather?" _That weather was far from my mind when I had been raped. _Not being able to hear his thoughts, she nodded, which made House shake his head and stand up. "I'm not talking to you about the weather."

And with that, he put her bonds back around her wrists and walked out of the room.

------

"_You_ help her!"

"She wants you!"

"God knows why."

House rolled his eyes as he looked at Cameron and Foreman. "She doesn't know what she wants."

"She knows she wants you. You're the first person she's spoken to about this."

"The fact that I was at the wrong place at the wrong time should be trumped by the fact that I'm useless at this." He simply couldn't talk to her; he just wasn't ready for that. Besides, since when did he become a therapist?

"No you're not," Cameron argued.

"She just wants normalcy," Foreman started, "if she wants to talk about the weather, let her talk about the weather. She just wants to feel like the world didn't end."

_Where was this concern a week ago?_ House thought, shaking his head. "Right. I'll tell her that everything went on without her. Babies were born, people got married- thousands of people will remember the day she got raped as the happiest day of their lives."

The other two doctors either slumped their shoulders or rolled their eyes at the sarcasm. But the only one that caught the bitterness in his tone was Cameron. She had the idea of what happened between House and Tritter for a while, but never took the time to address it to her boss. Not to mention that he seemed to be doing a lot better now than the week before. So Cameron kept her mouth shut about it- but that didn't mean she wouldn't hint at it. "You need to have her talk about what happened."

"No he doesn't," Foreman argued.

"Pretending it didn't happen-"

"Wrong, pretending this didn't happen is the best thing she could possibly do." House wanted to laugh. _I tried that already; it didn't go over so well. Then again the bastard that raped her probably wasn't a cop that stalks and hurts innocent people._ _Yet even after all that I still can't forget- I know I never will. Which means I'll never get over this. Great._

"She has to make this real," Cameron said to House, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"You know what we should be trying to make real?" Foreman intervened, "The few good moments in our lives, not the crap."

"Maybe you're right. Except there's no way she can pretend this didn't happen." House's gaze shifted toward Cameron at that point. "So she has no choice but to process it." His eyes widened slightly at the realization. He would have to do the same thing; make it real because it really did happen. The whole time he was trying to push what happened with Tritter and even his father into the back of his mind, hoping somehow it would be forgotten. But it was real, it happened and he still had to face that fact.

But how would he know if that would work?

------

He couldn't understand; he tried using Cameron's method by getting the patient to talk about what happened to her, but she refused to tell him. Then he went on to tell her it wasn't her fault just like Wilson had done for him. Yet she told him she already knew that. And out of a desperate need for a plan, he even tried to tell her that life went on just like Foreman was telling them. Still, House got nowhere. All she told him was that time changed everything, yet he had been dealing with the situation with Tritter for almost two weeks. Nothing had changed; he was still a coward trying to forget everything that had happened and failing miserably.

"Why do you trust me?" he finally snapped.

"I don't know," the teen retorted, "I just do."

"That's not rational!"

"Nothing's rational!"

"Everything is rational!"

"I was raped." _So was I._ "Explain how that makes sense to you."

At least he knew the answer to that problem- with the help from talking to Wilson, of course. "We are selfish, base animals crawling across the earth, and because we've got brains, if we try real hard, we can occasionally aspire to do something that is less than pure evil." For some reason, he had felt like he told her what happened to himself. Apparently he had given her a hint since she spoke up.

"Has anything terrible ever happened to you?"

He turned his gaze to her from the window and held out his arm almost in defeat. "What do you want me to say?"

"You wanted this conversation. You wanted to talk about something that matters. Talk."

_Getting raped doesn't matter; it happens to people every day. You of all people should know that._ House was just lying to himself. Getting raped mattered- obviously it affected him greatly. But his reply wasn't anything other than making her sleep. He felt he had to give some kind of response, though. What was there to say? Actually, there was a lot, but was he really ready to open up? Even he wasn't sure. He needed advice. And of course the first person he went to was Wilson.

"She's waiting for your answer?" Wilson asked as he sat behind his desk.

"She's asleep," House replied before turning his head. "I sedated her."

Wilson's brow furrowed lightly. Obviously there was something he wasn't understanding. "Why do you care what you say to her?"

"Because I don't know how to answer these questions." _Jimmy, help me again.._

_It's not as complicated as it seems, House… _"It's a simple question: Has your life sucked? Tell her the truth. Tell her you were shot. Tell her-"

"She doesn't want to hear the truth. She's looking for something."

Wilson paused and then leaned forward in his seat. "She's not you, House. _You _may be the one looking for something. Maybe she just wants to hear that she's not the only one with a crappy life. She's looking to connect with you. And that's what's scaring the hell out of you." House just looked at his friend. "Tell her the truth."

"There is no truth," he muttered, turning his gaze toward his cane. "She's asking for my personal experiences so she can extrapolate to all humanity. That's not truth. It's bad science."

_Stop thinking logically, House…_ "It's not science at all. Tell her the truth."

"But am I-"

"I wouldn't be telling you to do it if I didn't think you were ready."

_**You**__ think I'm ready, but __**I**__ don't know if I'm ready…_ Then again, Wilson was usually right about those kinds of things. Yet House still went to check and see what his ducklings would say. Cameron told him to say that his life was good- which it wasn't. But she told him that the patient wanted hope and all that warm fuzzy happy feelings that House didn't necessarily support. So he went to Foreman next. Of course, he told House to say the opposite; that his life sucked- which it didn't. Foreman said that she wanted to know that she wasn't alone when it came to what happened and "came out the other end". And he said to act like he was healed- which House definitely wasn't. So that only left Chase who was _such_ a big help. His suggestion was just to keep her asleep and for the time being, that was the second best idea out of all of them.

"Thanks, you've all been a _huge_ help," House muttered sarcastically.

"There's no wrong answer," Chase continued, "because there _is_ no answer."

"Wrong. We just don't know what the right answer is." And with that, House got up and limped back toward the girl's room once again. There was only one option he had left: tell the truth… well, somewhat anyway.

------

"It's not as bad as what happened to you," he started as she slowly woke up. Rubbing at his neck, he turned toward her but didn't look at her directly. "I don't think. I don't know what happened to you." She started to sit up, becoming more alert as he eased himself into the story. "But given how lousy you're responding, I assume it was worse than getting abused by your grandmother." _… Seriously? We're dragging poor oma into this? Okay, all right, she hasn't told you anything yet- why should you be honest with her?_

"What did she do to you?" she asked slowly, adjusting her posture once more.

His gaze lowered and then shifted to the side. "Parents traveled a lot. They'd leave me with her. She liked things the way she liked them. And she believed in discipline. She was right, I suppose, because I hardly ever screwed up when she was around. Too scared of getting forced to… sleep in the yard or take a bath in ice." He really hoped she didn't realize he was partially lying- let alone leaving a huge part of the story out. Before she would get the chance to ask, he said, "Your turn."

_Don't ask me anything; please don't ask me anything…_ It was hard enough for him to tell her that part of the story since it was true. But it had been his father that did those things- along with the nights alone with him either in the house or on those trips that he would go on. _You've been a bad boy, Greg…_ He sat down in a chair, trying his best not to tremble or reach for his aching leg.

"Your parents, they never stopped her?" she asked.

It wasn't what he wanted, but it was an easy question to answer. "I never told them."

"Why not?"

He bounced his cane lightly in the ground, finding a distraction from the thoughts that seeped into his mind. "Usual reasons. I was afraid they wouldn't believe me. I was afraid they'd think I'd done something wrong." There was an uncomfortable silence- at least to House it was uncomfortable. Sure part of the story was false, but most of it was still a dark secret he planned on keeping. But talking to this girl- this complete stranger- about it… for some reason, it made him feel lighter. Like a weight was being lifted off of his shoulders. It was still awkward, nonetheless. The girl was staring at him as if searching for something and he didn't like it. After bouncing his cane again, he quickly said, "I opened up to you. You open up to me."

"What did you call her?" she asked softly.

"Oma."

"And you kept calling her that after this?"

_Crap._ "Dutch for 'grandmother'. She was still my grandmother. And she was still Dutch."

Slowly- almost as if disappointed- the girl shook her head. "Is any part of that story true?" _You've been a bad boy, Greg…_ He averted his gaze, unable to look at her with that expression on her face. "All of it."

She still saw through the lie. "You wouldn't keep calling her Oma. Something would have to change."

_She's getting too close to the truth. _"You don't know me."

"You wouldn't keep calling her Oma!"

"Look, you're overreacting-"

"Don't dismiss me!"

"I'm not dismissing you. I'm saying you're not acting rationally."

"I'm angry because you're lying to me!"

"No, you are-" Suddenly, she threw her hands up angrily before snapping. "What can I do? What the _hell_ can I do that you're not going to dismiss as just being because I was raped?"

Finally, House got the courage to look up at her. She was glaring at him again, but his gaze didn't falter. He couldn't tell her what happened; really, it was nothing personal against her. House wasn't ready to speak up- and clearly neither was she. "… Nothing." was his reply.

Her expression softened and she let out a defeated sigh. "Your story, is it true?"

Once again, his gaze shifted to the side nervously. "True for somebody."

"But not for you."

_You don't know me…_ "These things happen. It happened to somebody. What do you care if it happened to me?"

"They're not in this room."

"No! They're out there! Doctors, lawyers, postal workers- some of them doing great, some of them doing lousy. You gonna base your whole life on who you're stuck in a room with?"

"I'm going to base this moment on who I'm stuck in a room with. It's what life is- a series of rooms. And who we get stuck in those rooms with adds up to what our lives are." _What the hell does that even mean?_ House thought as the two looked at each other. She just wasn't thinking rationally- yet he still stayed in that room and listened to her. Why? He didn't _have_ to. Well actually he kind of did since Cuddy was sort of forcing him to. Before anymore could be said, the door behind him slid open.

"House," Cuddy's voice called. And for once he was relieved to hear it. He turned and limped toward the Dean of Medicine and closed the door behind him once he left the room. "You gotta get me out of this." _Please, Cuddy_. "There's nothing to diagnose, there's-"

"You only tested her for STDs?" she interrupted.

House rolled his eyes. "I had seven morons who forgot their raincoats. It's all they asked for so I didn't waste the lab's time." He paused when he noticed Cuddy lower her gaze. His brow furrowed lightly before asking, "Why?"

"I wasted their time. She's pregnant."

_Damn…_ Slowly, he lifted his head and looked at the girl inside the room. Two things were going through his head: One, she definitely had it way worse than he ever did. And two, House was going to have to be the one to break the news to her. He didn't have to be told that, he just knew.

------

"Do you understand?" he asked. But all he got as a reply was silence. Not that it bothered him; to have her find out she was pregnant after being raped was a pretty devastating blow. And for some reason he actually felt concerned about her. "Are you okay?" he tried again, but then flinched a bit at the question. "I mean, I know you're not okay. But are you more or less not okay than you were five minutes ago?"

That redeemed his asshole persona a little bit, but the teen didn't seem to be upset or offended. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes and her voice quivered when she spoke. "About the same."

House nodded. _Better than being worse…_ "Good." His gaze then lowered, "The termination process isn't pleasant-"

"I don't want to terminate."

He didn't understand. She was raped and she was carrying another reminder of that day in her body. Why not get rid of it? She went on to explain how abortion was murder and that every life was sacred, but was that baby's life sacred? Was that rapist's like sacred? Was Hitler's life sacred? Were Tritter and his father's lives sacred even after what they had done to him? _That's why I'm not a huge fan of religion; it's not rational._

"Stop it! I don't wanna chat about philosophy!" she exclaimed, reaching up to clutch at the sides of her head in frustration.

House's shoulders slumped. "You're not killing your rape baby because of a philosophy."

"It's murder. I'm against it. You for it?"

"Not as a general rule."

"Just for unborn children?"

"Yes." The pause gave him time to ease the tension in the room. "The problem with exceptions to rules is the line drawing. It might make sense to kill the ass that did this to you, but then where do we draw the line? Which asses do we get to kill? Which asses get to keep on being asses? The nice thing about the abortion debate is we can quibble over trimesters but ultimately there's a nice clean line- birth. Morally there's not a lot of difference. Practically, huge."

She looked at him for a moment longer. "You're enjoying this conversation."

A smile made its way over his face as he chuckled quietly. "It's just the type of conversation I do well."

"But the other type? The personal stuff?"

House didn't see the point in talking about his personal life. It was surprising he had one person that knew and was open to talk to share it with. So why was he starting to expose part of it to this girl that he only met that day? "There are no answers. And if there are no answers, why talk about it?" Her gaze broke from his finally as she reached up to wipe some tears away. "You're healthy," House continued, "You shouldn't be here."

Quickly, she shook her head. "I don't want to go."

A reluctant sigh came from the older doctor. If she didn't want to go, he wasn't going to force her to leave. "Fine, I won't discharge you." Then he paused and an idea came to mind, causing another smile to appear. "Want to go for a walk?"

------

Religion was always a touchy subject for people. But for House, it was an easy topic to debate on. That moment probably wasn't the best time to spring it on the poor girl, but hey she was the one that wanted him to talk, so he was talking. She didn't know why God let her get raped. _So he lets you keep your rape baby for no reason._ Then it turned out he was challenging her. _He hurts you to help you. _

The debate was only making her upset, but he had a point; she was throwing her life away. All over some belief that God was justified in letting her get raped. It wasn't making any sense to him. At least until she confessed her intentions. She believed she was raped because the ass that hurt her was going to be punished for it. It gave her a feeling of comfort to believe that his actions would affect him later on in his lifetime.

_So did that mean Tritter would be punished later, too? For what he did to me and everyone else?_ If that was the case, though, then why did other people have to get hurt in the process? He understood her reason for comfort, but the logic still didn't make sense. Perhaps he just had to drop the logical side of the argument to understand. Drop the logic and focus more on how she felt; whether it would _help_ her. _Screw that asshole that did this to her- screw Tritter and my father. They don't matter; what's done is done and all we can do is move on._

"Do you think the guy who did this to me feels bad?" she asked.

"Would that help you? Make you feel better?"

But when he tried, she looked offended. "Why do you always do that? Ask why I'm asking questions instead of just answering the question?"

"The answer doesn't interest me. I don't care what he's feeling. I'm interested in what _you're_ feeling."

Her expression seemed to soften. "You are?"

"I'm trapped in the room with you, right?" She smiled lightly as her reply. But House still added, "Why did you choose me?"

She took a breath. "There's something about you…" her voice trailed off, a tear falling from her eyes. "It's like you hurt, too."

_She knows._ His gaze lowered for a moment. _Or she's going to end up finding out._ And for some reason that thought didn't scare him. To have her know what happened to him- to know the truth- it wasn't scaring him anymore. And the reason was because she was hurting too- from the same thing. Slowly, he turned in his seat so his back was to the table. Her gaze didn't leave him, but his gaze stayed averted. "It was true."

There was a pause, a go ahead to let him continue. But he didn't take it; he was still hesitating. _If you don't say it, Tritter will win. Your father will win… _"What was?" she asked.

"It wasn't my grandmother, and it was… more than just physical abuse. But it was true…"

He felt her lean forward and closer to him, offering a sort of comfort that he wasn't alone. And for once, he actually believed that he wasn't. She suffered, too; they had that in common and they could share that with each other. Well, he felt he could share what happened with her, anyway. "Who was it?" her voice was quiet, almost hesitant to ask.

House's gaze stayed on the ground in front of him. There was still that feeling of shame- shame for what happened with his father and with Tritter. And the shame of the fact that he _allowed_ it to happen. That would stay with him yet, but to overcome part of that he would have to tell her. "First it had been my dad…" he swallowed a lump in his throat. "Then… a few weeks ago, it was some perverted cop." For a few seconds, his gaze moved toward hers. Sympathy was in her eyes, but it was different from what he had seen in Wilson or Cuddy. She actually _knew_ how he felt. She _knew _what he had gone through. And that alone brought him comfort.

"I'd like to tell you what happened to me now," she said quietly.

Once more, House lifted his head and looked at her. It wasn't about fairness; not that since he opened up to her, she had to open up to him. She was feeling that same comfort that he was; since he was comfortable with telling her what happened to him, she was comfortable with talking to him about what happened to her. It was because they were both ready to talk that got them to open up so quickly. And since she was there to listen when he opened up, he would be there for her. "I'd like to hear it."

------

"She terminated. She's being discharged," House muttered to Cuddy while playing foosball with Wilson in the break room.

Cuddy nodded her head slightly. "She's going to be okay.

House scoffed lightly. "Yeah, it's that simple."

"She's talking about what happened. That's _huge_. You did good."

But still, the crippled doctor seemed to disagree. "And everyone'll tell you that's what we gotta make her do. We gotta help her, right? Except we can't." Wilson paused in his game and glanced up at House, who took the chance and whipped the ball into the open goal. "We drag out her story, tell each other that it'll help her heal and feel real good about ourselves. Maybe all we've done is make a girl cry."

"Then why bother helping her?" Cuddy asked.

House's gaze was still on the foosball table, but he knew that they both were looking at him. "Because I don't know."

"Yes you do," Wilson replied quietly. "Because you were trying to find your own help; she suffered like you did. And you wanted to help her in order to help yourself."

The silence told them that Wilson was right. Yet they didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing; good obviously because it showed that House was really moving on from what happened. And bad because of what he had said: maybe he was just trying to force the story out so everyone could say that he was recovering when in all reality all they did was make him cry- so to speak.

"_Did_ that help you?" Wilson asked, tilting his head in an attempt to get a better look at his best friend.

"Maybe," he replied, shifting to limp toward the door before looking up. "You said that it was up to me to make things normal. By talking to her it _could_ have helped." He gave a small shrug of his shoulder, turning his head to look back at them. "We'll just have to wait and see."


End file.
